


Ghosts Aren't Real

by JadeTigress



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: 5.0.5. is their dog which Dementia dyed blue once, Also Flug and Dementia are best friends, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Flug and Dementia are college students renting an old apartment, Flug says ghosts aren't real, M/M, Their stuff keeps getting messed up and Dementia insists the place is haunted, ish, the ghost haunting their house says well actually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeTigress/pseuds/JadeTigress
Summary: (but demons might be)





	1. Ice Scream

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably just going to be a series of drabbles in this AU, ranging from ice cream puns to eventual demonic rituals. Nothing too big. (Blame Dementia.)
> 
> (Please don't take this too seriously. As a tired college student, I can tell you, my life is 90% bad puns, 10% desperate enough to sell my soul for a guaranteed 4.0)

The machine short circuited, throwing off sparks and causing Flug to swear loudly and recoil, falling back in his chair as it hurtled to the ground.

He clambered to his feet and screeched a little as the project caught fire, actually _caught fire._ His hands darted up to hold at his face as he gaped, utterly incredulous. As it began to get bigger, his senses came back to him suddenly. His eyes darted around quickly, before landing on an old water bottle nearby. He ran over and scooped it up quickly, emptying its contents onto his project.

The fire fizzled out, but the machine was absolutely ruined.

He started at the smoking circuits, slack-jawed. There was no reason it should have done that. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but _catch fire?_

Flug's eyes narrowed, and he leaned further to inspect the project. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a few wires that appeared to be yanked out of position, completely separated from their inputs. _That_ would do it.

Fury rose in him, and he stood up suddenly and knocked harshly against the wall behind his desk.

“Dementia! Did you mess with my stuff!?” He shouted, furious.

Flug knocked again loudly on the wall separating their bedrooms, trying to get the girl's attention over the loud music blaring from her room.

“ _Dementia!_ ” He shouted, stamping a foot in irritation.

“ _What?_ ” A muffled voice called back.

“I _said-_ ” He groaned in frustration, knocking a fist onto his desk. He frowned, turning and marching out of his room. It was only a short step to the left and he was yanking open her door, glaring at his roommate who was obviously not paying attention. “I _said_ stop messing with my stuff!”

Dementia was lying on her bed upside down, head hanging off the end and legs kicking up in the air. Her bright red bangs were sticking up and hanging out of her face, and her long green extensions were trailing across the ground by the foot of her bed. She was on her phone, holding it up in the air above her face, and only glanced up when Flug physically walked up to bed and stomped a foot.

“Huh?” She asked. When Flug just glared, she smiled impishly. “Sorry I wasn't listening.”

She clicked off her phone, and brought it down to rest on her chest. She didn't move to get up, but at least she was actually paying attention now, even if the music was still blaring.

Flug scowled, turned, and hit the power on her speaker.

“Hey,” she protested as silence fell over the room.

Better.

“ _Dementia,_ ” Flug started, clearly exasperated. “I said you need to stop going in my room and messing with my stuff! That's the third time this month I had to scrap a project because you messed it up! It _actually caught fire!_ Maybe you don't need to focus on classes, but if I can't keep asking for extensions.”

Her protest fell off her lips and her expression of mild confusion immediately fell to one of annoyance. She bristled and scoffed, glaring up at him from where she still rested with her head hanging off the bed.

“I _told you,_ I haven't gone in your room!” She snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. “We've talked about this, like, a thousand times.”

“Oh so it's the ghost again,” Flug countered, voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, fed up.

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” she responded, pursing her lips and nodding sharply. “Yesterday it knocked over my lamp again. Plus it keeps scaring 5.0.5., don't you notice how he runs around? I don't know how you –”

“Ghosts aren't _real_ Dementia!” Flug clenched his fists and stamped in indignation. He was downright tired of this argument and Dementia's eccentricities. Her obsession with monsters and ghosts was charming _at first_ , but after five months of living together and two months of constant accidents blamed on the 'apartment ghost,' he was done.

“Have you considered that _5.0.5._ knocks over your lamp? It's right on the edge of the table.” He gestured sharply at the lava lamp in question, which was indeed hovering right near the edge of her desk, ready to be knocked over at the slightest bump.

She gave him an unimpressed, half-lidded look, not bothering to look over at where he gestured.

“Flug you were out with 5.0.5. at the park yesterday and I was at dance class all day,” she reminded him. “Nobody was home.”

“Oh,” Flug frowned, “Well that still doesn't prove a _ghost_ knocked over your lamp Dementia, and I really don't appreciate – ”

“You know what _I_ don't appreciate? You accusing me of stuff all the time!” She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “What proof do you have I even went in your room?”

“You're the only other person who lives here, so unless a burgler came in just to mess up my engineering project...” He crossed his arms too, just as stubborn as her.

“You, me,” she began counting off on her fingers, holding them high above her head and at Flug's eye level, “the dog that _maybe? might?_ have gotten in your room, hmm? Oh, and the ghost.” She held up four fingers and wiggled them in Flug's face, who batted them away.

“The door was closed, so 5.0.5. couldn't get in, and there are _no such things as ghosts,_ ” he insisted.

On cue, there was a sudden crash behind Flug. He wiped around, eyes wide and heart stuttering, to see Dementia's lava lamp lying on the ground by her desk. He stared at it, watching as the bubbles still moved through the viscous liquid, still plugged in.

He could practically hear Dementia begin to buzz behind him. He scoffed.

“That doesn't prove anything-”

“Ah- _yeah,_ ” she shouted, directly in Flug's ear, causing him to wince, _“_ the ghost's on my side!”

Flug turned around to see her jumping to her feet on her bed and throwing her arms into the air. “Ten points to Team Ghost! Ghostie and Dementia together forever!”

“Okay, first – we don't have a ghost – “

“Yeah you're right, it's technically a poltergeist, with the moving things,” she tapped at her chin and broke out into a wide smile. “Or maybe it's a demon, it's pretty destructive. Think it wants our souls?”

“We don't have a ghost _or_ a demon,” Flug said, but the fight was wearing out of him now to be replaced with an annoyed resignation. “It's just an old house, sometimes it settles and makes noises. Sometimes things shift things around. And it's also probably not flat, if you'd just move your lamp somewhere else I'm sure it'd be _fine._ ”

“Can I get another hand here, demon-ghost-person?” She asked, resting her hands on her hips and looking around the room, as if expecting a full apparition to manifest.

Nothing happened.

“See? No ghosts,” Flug said triumphantly, waving a hand.

Dementia pouted and batted her eyelashes. “Aw, come on ghost I'm counting on you here to back me up. Sure you don't want my soul?”

“Oh my god, Dementia,” Flug sighed. It might as well have been his catch phrase. Flug rubbed at his temples, he felt a headache building.

“Maybe you shouldn't say 'God' so much,” she shot back, tilting her head and grinning. “I bet it's why the ghost doesn't like you and keeps breaking your stuff. It only knocks _my_ stuff down.”

“ _Jesus Christ_.”

“Him either.”

Flug brought both his hands down in a chopping motion, gritting his teeth. “Okay, look-”

“ _Lookie_ here yourself Flug,” Dementia cut in, hopping down from the bed. “I know you don't believe in the ghost or whatever,” she said, crossing her arms once she stood eye-level with him, “but I _seriously_ didn't mess with your stuff, okay?”

She met Flug's gaze steadily, before shifting her weight and holding out her arms in a placating motion. “I swear.”

“Well then who did?” He asked, but his anger was already starting to fade and he regretted snapping at her.

“I don't know, like you said the house moves sometimes,” she shrugged, “but seriously I don't like how you always come and blame me when anything goes wrong.”

She was looking at him sincerely. Flug frowned and looked away, starting to feel a little guilty. Maybe he'd accidentally left the door open and 5.0.5. had gotten in. It was odd behavior for the dog to be destructive, he was the sweetest and best behaved dog Flug had ever met, and the wires had almost looked like they'd been purposely yanked out, but with the way Dementia was looking at him... She seemed genuinely upset.

“Okay, I'm sorry for accusing you,” he said, crossing his arms defensively and shrugging. “I was just – you know how stressed I am right now, and I can't have any setbacks.”

“Yeah I know, but-”

“ _But_ it wasn't right for me to blame you like that, I was wrong. I'm sorry,” Flug finished. He looked back up at her and smiled cautiously. “I'll buy you ice cream?”

“Hmm,” she tapped at her chin and pretended to think despite the smile she couldn't keep hidden, “I _guess_ I can forgive you. Only because I already spent my budget for the week and I'm _craving_ some fro-yo.”

“Want to go now? I need a break from working anyway,” Flug said. He wasn't looking forward to restarting that project, and ice cream was always the best way to procrastinate.

“Think we should ask the ghost what their favorite flavor is?” Dementia asked. She trotted over to where her lamp still lay on the ground, still plugged in and lit up and churning. She picked it up and settled it back on the desk, making sure it was as far from the edge as it could be.

(It was still pretty close.)

“Seriously?” Flug asked, but this time when he rolled his eyes a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Dementia could easily get on his nerves, but she was his best friend, and he had moved in with her for a reason.

“Yeah, take a guess,” she said, throwing a hip to one side and raising an eyebrow.

“Am I going to regret it?” He asked, frowning at her mischievous look.

“ _Guess,_ ” she said, bouncing slightly and clasping her hands.

“...vanilla.”

“Terrible guess!” She said, sticking out her tongue. After a moment of suspense, she grinned and said. “I'm gonna go with... _Boo-berry.”_

“That's a terrible joke!” Flug shouted, throwing his hands into the air as she snickered. “Plus I'm, like, 90% sure that joke's supposed to be about pie.”

She just shrugged, giggling. Flug rolled his eyes and walked out of the room, followed shortly by Dementia, and heading over to the end of the hallway and the door. Flug grabbed the keys off the hook near the door as Dementia shouldered on her leather jacket. He waited as she ran to the mirror and pawed at her red bangs, adjusting them.

“Wiiiith...” she dragged out.

“Don't you dare,” Flug warned.

 _“Whipped scream_ on top,” she turned to look at Flug over her shoulder, grinning that special evil smile people have after telling a particularly bad pun. Flug groaned, the typical reaction of someone on the receiving end of a particularly bad pun.

“That would literally taste awful! Bad!” He shot back throwing the keys at her head.

She caught them effortlessly between her hands, showing off her reflexes.

“And... uhh... a... _scary cherry_  on top of it all?” Her tongue poked out between her teeth as her grin widened at Flug's distress. “Okay, no that one was a reach,” she admitted.

“ _Why_ are we friends again?” Flug asked, questioning his whole friendship with her.

“Because you love me,” she sighed dramatically. “Tragic, because I love someone else,” she said, doing a pirouette and twirling her way over to the door, showing off.

Flug scoffed as he held open the door for her to pass through. She did a slight hop, bringing her hands down and twirling her skirt.

“Let me guess, the ghost?” He asked, deadpan, following her through the door.

“Your dog,” she replied, turning and booping his nose.

“Hey – “ He slapped at her hand and she giggled, jumping away.

“But the ghost likes me better anyway, _and_ so does 505.” She said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“That's slander!” Flug raised a fist and shook it in the air as Dementia darted off down the street, laughing.

“ _505 loves me more,_ ” she sang as she darted around the corner.

“He's _my_ dog!” Flug shouted, but he couldn't help but laugh as he took off, trying to catch up with her.

 

* * *

 

When Flug woke up the next day, he entered the kitchen half-asleep as always. On his way to the coffee maker, he leaned down and scratched behind 5.0.5.'s ears, and the dog whined in delight. He ran in circles around his feet, nearly tripping him up.

He patted the dog's head again, yawning. He turned on the coffee maker and leaned on the counter as it warmed up.

The apartment was quiet, it would still be a couple more hours until Dementia woke up. She was a heavy sleeper.

Flug rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, fighting down another yawn. He walked over to the fridge to check what he could scrape up for breakfast.

He opened the fridge and grabbed some eggs and milk. He drew back, placing the ingredients on the counter, before turning to close the fridge again. When the door closed, something caught his eye.

He stared at it for a minute, squinting. He rubbed at his eyes again, and squinted at it again.

Among all the other notes on the fridge, grocery lists, to do lists, random doodles Dementia had made and pinned up there for some reason, there was a new note written in an elegant cursive script that took Flug a moment to decipher.

_Actually, I prefer Toffee or Dulce de Leche_ _❤_ _BH_

_P.S. We should talk more about souls_

Flug stared, blinking slowly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath – in and out.

“ _Dementia I swear to god!_ ”

 

 


	2. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug is forced to clean up Dementia's mess.  
> He's starting to get a really bad feeling about this house, which is absolutely unrelated to ghosts and whatever notes they may or may not leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Thanks for all the comments and asks about this fic!! I read and love every one!  
> I'm glad you like my college AU shenanigans, hope you're prepared for more!
> 
> Also, some fan art was done for this AU by lallorona04! It's super cute please go check it out!  
> Link: https://lallorona04.tumblr.com/post/161840932346/villain-ouz-so-it-just-occurred-to-me-that-i

 

When Flug had said “can you take 5.0.5. for a walk while I go to the store,” in his mind he'd pictured Dementia and their beloved dog strolling calmly through the park on a lovely spring morning. Taking in the sights, maybe stopping to smell the flowers – answering stranger's questions as to why their dog was blue, you know, the usual routine. Nice and easy.

That had apparently _not_ been what had happened, because when Flug shoved the door open with a shoulder, struggling under the weight of the grocery bags he had slung over either arm, he was greeted by an exhausted, panting, mess of a dog.

At first, he had thought ' _oh no_ Dementia brought another dog home,' because _their_ dog was pretty recognizable, what with him being _blue._

But no, this dog was brown. So it couldn'tbe _his_ dog.

Flug stumbled as the dog leaped towards him, whining excitedly and spinning. It practically whacked into the narrow walls of the hallway near the door in its gleeful pacing.

When the brown from the dog's fur began to rub off on the walls, and he caught sight of the brown paw-prints through the hall leading up to the door, Flug narrowed his eyes.

“Dementia?” He called. No answer.

He nodded slowly, biting his bottom lip in irritation. His eye twitched a little bit as he gently pushed 5.0.5. out of the way. Because yes, that was indeed his dog. He grimaced as the mud rubbed off on his jeans, leaving a streak all the way from his knees to his shoes. 5.0.5. yipped excitedly, and ran further into the apartment.

“ _Fives no!_ ” He shouted, eyes widening. However, when he rushed forward and took a look at the kitchen he saw it was already too late. 5.0.5. had already run around the whole place, leaving muddy paw-prints and smears all over the floor and up and down the walls. It was a disaster, it looked like 5.0.5. had been running around, freaking out, and destroying the place. Which was a complete opposite to how he was now sitting patiently, wagging his tail and looking up at Flug.

Flug just gaped in disbelief, grocery bags hanging loosely in his hands and he slowly looked over the disaster in front of him. He was about to just turn around and walk out, start a new life with a new roommate and new dog just to avoid the situation here.

“I'm gonna kill her,” he said, before looking over and locking eyes with 5.0.5. The dog seemed to get more even excited, panting harder and wiggling slightly at being addressed. Flug however, took this as approval for his new murder scheme.

“That's it, this is it, I've snapped,” he said calmly, watching as flakes of mud chipped off of 5.0.5.'s muzzle and the dog had to blink to keep them from falling into his eyes.

“She's pushed me far enough, nobody would blame me, right? They'd understand?” he asked. The dog whined and stood up, wiggling more and nuzzling at the bags in Flug's hands.

“ _No,_ ” he chastised, bulling the bags up higher out of reach of the dog's prying nose. “Not for you,” he frowned, “Not now anyway. _Bad_ dog.”

5.0.5. froze, before he whined and stopped wagging about. He tucked his tail between his legs and ducked his face down. Flug swore that dog was the most intelligent dog he'd ever had. He understood so well, probably even thought he was a person too.

5.0.5. began to slink away, and Flug sighed, immediately guilted by the master manipulator. It wasn't like it was the dog's fault that he'd been left covered in mud to rampage around the apartment. No, in fact...

“ _Dementia!_ ” He shouted again. Still no answer.

He frowned, looking down at his shoes. With a sigh, he toed them off, before walking into the destroyed kitchen. He placed the bags down on the counter. When he turned to open the freezer to put away his frozen food, he spotted a note scrawled messily on a post-it note and slapped onto the handle of the fridge.

He plucked it roughly, ignoring as 5.0.5. rubbed up against his legs again, rubbing off more mud.

_Flug, I am so, so, so, SO sorry. 5.0.5. and me might have gotten a little carried away, and I forgot I had guitar lessons. I was going to lock him in the bathroom, but he kept freaking out and I couldn't do it to him. I promise I'll clean up everything when I get back. Please don't be mad, remember that you love me and would have to pay the whole rent if you killed me in my sleep!! -Love Dem_

Flug scowled at it, before sticking it back up, this time on the cabinets above the counter, just so he'd remember to lecture her about communicating through sticky-note. It was the most passive-aggressive form of communication, and he _knew_ she just did it so that he wouldn't be able to protest.

He continued on his work, yanking open the freezer door and putting away the frozen foods.

When he pulled out a pint of ice cream, he glared at it silently for a moment, remembering his earlier conversation with Dementia.

“What ice cream do you want?” He'd asked, hovering by the door to leave, reusable bags already in hand.

“Grab me some birthday cake – oh! And Dulce de Leche!” She'd said, peeking out of her room and waggling an eyebrow.

“Dementia I _know_ you left that note – I'm not buying you two flavors, so pick one.” He'd said, already tired of the joke.

“Nu-uh, _how_ can you not take this seriously-” She'd said, tired of Flug's constant denial.

“One or the other, or else I get Pistachio and nobody's happy,” he'd threatened, pointing at her.

She'd pouted, crossing her arms. “But - “

“Maybe you'd have more negotiating power if you didn't spend your money on that new sound system,” he'd finished, and Dementia had sighed, accepting the final blow.

“Fine,” she'd said, “Dulce de leche then. Don't want to disappoint the ghost.”

“If you wanted a different ice cream flavor than usual, you didn't have to make up a ghost to do it,” he'd said.

She had just shrugged, rolling her eyes and dismissing Flug. As though _she_ were tired of _his_ nonsense.

Now here he was, glaring at the pint, before turning his gaze and glaring at the note (from “BH”) that Dementia had _insisted_ they keep on the fridge. He knew she was just keeping it there to tease him, but the longer the joke stretched on, the less funny it got, and the more irritated Flug got at the whole thing.

He tossed the pint into the freezer.

“There you go Mr. Ghost,” he mocked, rolling his eyes, “Special order straight from the Humoring Dementia Allowance. Funds are running low, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

5.0.5. whined, causing Flug to look down at the dog. Weirdly, he had now left the kitchen and was hovering by the door to the common area, looking in at Flug and whimpering.

“Oh don't start with me mister, you're not out of the clear yet,” he muttered as he finished putting away the rest of the groceries. He gave a lingering look of disdain to the mud smears everywhere, but Dementia had said she would clean it up, so she _was going to_ clean it up.

However, the root of the problem had to be dealt with first.

Flug turned on 5.0.5. with a maniacal grin.

“Bath time,” he said, walking slowly towards the dog.

Needless to say, he bolted.

“You want a _bath?_ ” Flug teased, following after the dog. There wasn't anywhere to go to, the front door was closed, as were the doors to Dementia's and his rooms. The only open door was the one to the bathroom. When he cornered 5.0.5., the dog began to wiggle nervously, looking up at Flug.

“Oh no, you can't get out of this one,” he said. They stood like that for a moment, as Flug considered the best way to get 5.0.5. into the bathroom. The dog tried to bolt again, but Flug blocked him in with his legs, reaching down to grab at his collar.

“Gotcha,” he exclaimed, clamping his grip on the dog's collar. “Resistance is futile.”

5.0.5. whined, but Flug just patted him on the head and lead him into the bathroom.

The dog walked right in, contradicting what Dementia had claimed in her note. Another thing to call her out on.

“Come on boy,” he muttered, coaxing the dog into the tub. Once inside, Flug took in the full extent of the damage. It was a horrendous mix of mud that was still wet, rubbing off on everything, and dirt that was drying in flakes and chipping off in Flug's hands. He gave the fur on 5.0.5.'s back a rough ruffle, and grimaced as his hand came away completely brown. On the bright side, the touch had rubbed off some of the mud, revealing 5.0.5.'s signature blue fur underneath.

He still didn't understand why Dementia did it. It was a sizable chunk of her paycheck to buy hair dye for both herself _and_ the dog all the time. Flug didn't even want to bother going to the hairdresser half the time, and usually only ended up getting his shaggy hair cut when Dementia cornered him and forced him into going with her.

Flug braced himself, ready for 5.0.5. to bolt, and slowly turned on the faucet in the tub.

Immediately, 5.0.5. startled at the sudden rushing water, and tried to jump out of the tub.

“Oh no you don't,” Flug said, grabbing onto the dog and pushing him back in.

Things only escalated from there. 5.0.5. didn't like baths on a good day, but for some reason he was giving Flug extra trouble now. He kept inching down towards one end of the tub, away from the faucet and the shower rack that hung above it, and he whimpered and jumped every time Flug made a sudden movement.

“What's wrong with ya boy?” Flug asked, giving 5.0.5. a concerned look.

The dog, of course, couldn't answer, but he didn't try to jump out again, even if he refused to get any closer to the faucet.

So Flug was forced to splash water over the dog with his hands, slowly working through his matted fur. Once he got the worst of the chunks off he grabbed the dog shampoo from the shower rack. As Flug stood to grab the shampoo, 5.0.5. yipped. Flug looked back down at him, confused, but the dog was staring at the rack, which only made Flug shrug. He retrieved the bottle and knelt back down, squeezing out a generous amount of product over 5.0.5.'s back.

This seemed to snap the dog out of his staring contest with the wall, and he yipped again, indignant this time as he gave Flug an offended look.

“Well maybe you shouldn't have run in the mud,” Flug said, massaging the shampoo into his fur. It bubbled up quickly, and Flug chuckled as soon enough 5.0.5. was covered all over in large pink suds.

5.0.5. was patient, and Flug was beginning to hope that the dog had returned to his normal well-behaved self. He stood still while Flug worked through the rest of the mud, revealing more and more of 5.0.5.'s blue fur underneath.

The hope was dashed though, as something rattled by the faucet. 5.0.5. went off again, yapping in a high-pitched way that made Flug's ears ring.

“ _No_ Five, calm down,” he said, trying to grab a hold of the dog, who was now flailing about and splashing water everywhere. Something rattled again, and Flug followed the sound to the metal shower rack still hanging above the faucet.

5.0.5. was whining loudly, tail tucked, and trying desperately to dash by Flug. He didn't understand, 5.0.5. didn't like baths, but this behavior was ridiculous, even if the rack was rattling.

“Fives look,” he started, trying to reassure his pet.

A loud splash sounded at the other end of the tub, as the shower rack which had been screwed into the wall came loose and fell into the water. 5.0.5. yelped loudly, jumping and pushing past Flug with all his strength.

Flug yelped too. The muddy bath water washed over him as the dog smacked into his chest, before knocking him back onto the floor and jumping over his sprawled form and out of the room. He landed on the ground with an 'oof,' and squealed as his shirt became soaked from the water dripping of 5.0.5.'s belly as he trod right over him.

“ _No!_ ” he shouted, sitting back up, “ _Bad dog!_ ”

But it was no use, 5.0.5. had already hightailed it back into the common room, and Flug was left sitting on the floor, soaking wet with dirty wet-dog bath water.

“God,” he muttered. He reached up to push his (now dripping) bangs back out of his face. He was also forced to pull off his glasses, standing up and searching for something to dry them off on. He squinted, vision blurred, as he reached for a towel near the sink.

He dried his glasses quickly, and slid them back over his eyes, blinking as the world came back into focus.

He looked at the walls in the bathroom, now splattered with water from where 5.0.5. had splashed and shook. Some of the mud splatters reached as high as Flug's shoulders, but luckily it all seemed to have stayed on the lower half of the wall, which was tile, and refrained from stretching up onto the plaster.

He sighed, looking down at how his t-shirt, now stuck to his skin, and his jeans that weighed him down heavily.

Well, if he was already soaking...

“Fivey,” he said coaxingly, pitching his voice up into that playful tone you use for children and dogs. “The bad part's done, we just need to get you rinsed off.”

He peeked his head out the bathroom door, and almost laughed at the sight he saw.

5.0.5. was curled up in the back corner of the common area, laying down, and practically glaring up at Flug. Maybe he could pull it off, except he was covered in suds, and his fur looked like a marbled pattern of brown, blue, and pink. Flug snorted, which only seemed to offend the dog, who tucked his nose under a paw.

“Come on Five, just a rinse and you're done, no more bath,” he said, approaching the dog slowly. He grimaced as he realized that he, too, was dripping all over the floor now, leaving muddy footprints behind him.

He was able to get a hold of 5.0.5. again relatively easily, but no matter what he did, the dog _would not_ get back into the tub.

In the end, he had to make the executive decision to get 5.0.5. back into the tub _by any means necessary._

So he sighed, bent down, and scooped the dog up in his arms.

5.0.5. yelped, kicking his legs out desperately, and Flug grunted as one got him right in the stomach. The dog was heavy enough, and his struggling didn't help, but Flug quickly stepped into the bath himself, pulled the curtain closed and kicked the faucet (delicately), switching on the shower.

It had seemed like a good idea.

As water pelted Flug directly in the face, plastering all his hair to his forehead and clouding his glasses, it started to seem like less of a good idea.

However, it seemed to work, as 5.0.5. stopped struggling and Flug was able to rinse the suds and remaining mud off of 5.0.5.'s coat. He even began to behave. In fact, now that Flug was in there with him, miserable and soaking right along with him, the dog seemed to cheer up completely the little traitor.

He worked fast, and soon the water that was swirling around the drain began to be tinted blue, washing away the residue of the dye that covered 5.0.5. instead of the mud. Flug sighed in relief, giving 5.0.5. one last check over. Almost done.

Suddenly, 5.0.5. bristled and barked again, turning and dashing out of the tub once more. Flug made a desperate grab for him, but missed, and the dog tore right through the shower curtain.

“Oh, what the heck-”

Flug broke off and squealed as the water running over him turned suddenly cold. It was like someone had yanked the knob all the way over to freezing, and Flug scrambled out of the tub right after the dog. He got caught in the curtain momentarily, cursing as it wrapped around his body and stuck to his wet skin. He managed to duck under it, and sprawled out onto the floor, shivering.

“Oww,” he muttered from his position on the floor. 5.0.5. was out in the hallway looking in at him and panting. He was dripping water all over the floor, but at least he was clean.

Flug pulled himself to his feet and, glaring, went over to shut off the water. He was going to have a word with the water company.

Only, when he reached for the knob, he noticed that it _was_ actually pushed all the way over to the cold setting, despite Flug remembering to set it to warm. He frowned, turning the water off, but he just shrugged and turned to grab a towel off the hooks by the door to dry off 5.0.5. (and himself).

But as he turned to face the door, Flug's eyes caught sight of something odd on the wall. He froze, blood running cold, and he immediately walked over to examine it closer.

There, on the bathroom wall, was a smile. He had to take a moment to really look at it, to make sure his mind wasn't inventing a shape in the mud splatters like some wet-dog induced Rorschach test. But no, there it was clearly, a smiley face drawn onto the wall with mud.

It was far too high up to be a smear from 5.0.5. In fact, it was directly eye level with Flug, and he felt a weird discomfort looking at it. It's eyes were perfectly placed to stare right at Flug – they were even at just the right height and width to stare straight into his eyes. The smile too, was somehow _off._ It was only a single line, but it stretched unnaturally far up on either side, giving it a distorted look.

Simply put, it was pretty creepy looking and Flug didn't like it one bit.

His immediate thought was Dementia must have put it there, but he distinctly remembered looking around after his glasses had gotten wet, and it _hadn't_ been there before. The mud hadn't stretched up onto the plaster. Had it?

He searched around the messy bathroom some more, a sinking feeling settling in his gut.

He examined the shower knob. It was covered in mud, but that was because Flug had messed with it with his muddy hands, had to be.

He looked up to where the shower rack had been screwed into the wall. The screws were undone, obviously, that's why it fell, but there was no reason they should have been loose in the first place.

Flug was starting to feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“Hey Five, why don't you sleep with me tonight,” he said, turning around and looking at the dog, who still refused to enter the bathroom. “For, uh, your sake of mind of course.”

The dog just whined.

Flug exited the bathroom quickly. Not because he was nervous, just because he was eager to grab a change of clothes is all.

He was passing through the common room, heading straight to his door, when he heard a noise from the kitchen.

He froze, foot mid-step, before turning slowly to look at the kitchen doorway.

“If I die,” he whispered to 5.0.5., “make sure Dementia doesn't touch my stuff.”

Flug walked slowly over to the doorway, peering in cautiously.

He watched in disbelief as the door to the freezer slowly cracked open.

“Oh no, absolutely not,” Flug said to the room at large, stomping over to the fridge. “The house must have settled and shifted, causing the door to pop open,” he explained, partially to himself and partially to 5.0.5., who refused to follow him into the room.

He felt a chill, but excused it as the cold air coming from the now open freezer. He glared at the open door, eyes falling on the ice cream.

“You know what?” He said, suddenly lighting up and smirking. He reached in and snagged the ice cream, slamming the door to the freezer shut. “Dementia can buy her own.”

He quickly exited the kitchen, ignoring the creepy feeling he was getting. It was a natural reaction to being home alone. The mind loved to play tricks on you.

Flug moved quickly, becoming aware that he was still dripping water all over the floor. He passed through the kitchen door, greeting 5.0.5. with a pat. The dog whimpered and ran off, before settling in front of Flug's door.

“Yeah boy, why don't you come in and – “

He skidded to a halt as his eyes locked onto the door to his bedroom.

There, again at perfect eye-level to Flug and staring straight at him, was a face drawn on the door in mud.

Only this time, instead of smiling creepily at him, the line of the mouth curved down. It was still unnaturally stretched, one end pulling down even farther than the other in a lopsided way. In fact, the mud was still wet, and the one side of the frown was still dripping. Flug stared, breath caught in his throat, as the right side of the frown dripped slowly, stretching farther with each second.

“ _Okay_ ,” Flug tittered, finally catching his breath while he stared at the face. “Okay, I'm sure there's – there's a perfectly reasonable – reasonable explanation,” he stammered, eyes darting to where 5.0.5. had stood up, fur on his back bristling as he stared at Flug's door and bared his teeth. Even the dog was freaked out – well okay the dog was always freaking out but this was an exceptional case.

“Uhm, maybe... maybe...” He stammered nervously, holding the ice cream to his chest. He looked down at it, before looking up at the frown again. A nervous smile crossed his face as his eyes darted desperately around the room. “Uh.”

5.0.5. growled low and deep, which caused Flug's breath to get caught in his throat again as he felt his anxiety build. His heart beat quickened and he bit his lip.

Suddenly, a door slammed open. 5.0.5. went off, barking loudly. And Flug may have screamed, just a little bit.

Flug backpedaled swiftly. He yelped as his feet slipped on the wet floor and flew out from under him, causing him to land in a muddy heap.

“Woah! You okay?” He heard a high voice call out, and blinked blearily as he turned to watch a pair of Converse run up to his face.

“Flug?” Dementia asked, bending down and giving him a concerned look. She held out a hand. “Come on, I don't have enough money to pay your hospital bills.”

“You don't have _any_ money,” Flug muttered, grabbing onto her hand and pulling himself up to a sitting position.

“Exactly,” she replied, tension leaving and smile returning as he watched him right himself. “That was nasty, you okay?”

“Yeah I'm fine,” he muttered. She braced herself, and he pulled himself up using her as a counterweight. “Just slipped.”

“Didn't mean to scare you,” Dementia said, “sorry!”

“Don't worry about – hey actually,” Flug suddenly remembered he was supposed to be mad at her. He turned, pining his glare on her.

She smiled innocently, shrugging her shoulders.

“You're cleaning this up,” he said, “and I'm going to go, uh,” he looked back down at the ice cream pint in his hand. Suddenly, he wanted nothing to do with it. He grimaced and shoved it at her, forcing her to react and catch it. She raised an eyebrow as she saw what it was, but didn't comment. “-take a nap or something.”

He turned to open the nob of his room.

When he saw that the frown was gone, he didn't even know what to feel. It was smudged into just a blur of mud, obliterated and unrecognizable, as though someone had taken their hand and rubbed it out.

“Not funny,” he said, glaring and pointing at the smudge.

“Uh, Fluggy, you okay? You didn't hit your head did you?” Dementia asked, furrowing her brow.

“No, you didn't see there was a – “ he started, before breaking off and glaring. “You know what? No, I'm not doing this. I must have breathed in some fumes in Chem class. I'm going to bed now. Night.”

“Flug it's only six - “

“Come on Five - “

“I thought the dog wasn't allowed in - “

“Can't hear you. Night Dementia, night ghost that's not in our house, come on Fives,” he said, turning the knob and shoving his door open.

He got a good two steps into his room, dog happily tailing him as he headed over to his laundry, before he heard Dementia squeak.

“Flug! Flug quick!” She shouted, sounding ecstatic.

Flug took a deep breath, turning and poking his head out the door again.

Dementia was pointed excitedly at a spot on the wall in the hall across from Flug's door, near the entrance to the kitchen.

There, was a message written in mud.

_Goodnight_ _❤_

The letters were patchy, having been written with mud that was already drying. The cursive letters were also wobbly, distorted from being blown up and out of proportion to cover a large enough portion of the wall for Flug to read it from his spot peeking out of his room.

Overall, shoddy work.

He stared at it, expressionless, before looking over to where Dementia was hopping up and down with manic energy.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, ohmygosh, omigosh,” she said, faster each time until the words blended together. “Flug _do you see –_ “

“See what?” Flug asked, voice deadpan.

“The, uh, the _writing_ – “

“Oh absolutely not,” he said, grinning dryly.

She furrowed her brow and paused, giving Flug a confused look. “But – “

“Hey Dem, you should probably not jump, you might slip, and I'd really appreciate if you could fix the kitchen by dinner. I'm just taking a nap so I'll get up to make something,” he said, turning to head back in his room.

“But – but _Flug_. Flug you had to see that. Flug you _have_ to believe me now. _Flug!?_ ”

“Can't hear you over the sound of me not caring,” Flug responded.

“ _Flug come on._ ”

Flug grabbed a towel and change of clothes, slamming his door shut as he walked by. He dried the two of them off, and changed, before he flopped into his bed.

Flug patted the side for 5.0.5. to hop up. He pulled up the cover and wrapped it around both him and the dog, smiling as 5.0.5. nuzzled into his chest. His tail hit the bed several times with a muffled _thump_ , before the dog fell asleep, wrapped up in Flug's arms.

He darted one last look around the room, listening to Dementia's loud bemoaning out in the hall, before allowing himself to relax.

The warmth of 5.0.5. pressed into his chest helped him lull off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also if you follow me on my tumblr (jadetigress), I hope this makes up for all that emoji nonsense...................
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!!
> 
> :)


	3. ITS DIFFERENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug contemplates his life choices and argues with a ghost - oh, sorry, "demon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate summaries:  
> "Flug has a bad day and Dementia orchestrates a spooky night"  
> "Flug has a bad day and Dementia thinks its a good idea to talk to a fucking demon"  
> "A demon ruins Flug's life and Dementia decides she wants to date it"  
> and, my personal favorite  
> "The dog's in this one boys"  
> I apologize for being inactive through The Entire Month of July, but here you go, here's your update!
> 
> I'd like to give a special thanks to Niki, my beta reader! She's great and I'm love her. You can find her at:  
> http://abyssinalphantom.tumblr.com/  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/AbyssinalPhantom

Flug had been having a, simply put, very shitty day when he approached his home and found some chalk sigil roughly scrawled on their front door. He stared for it a moment, before sighing and testing the handle to find it unlocked.

The strong smell of smoke and incense did nothing to improve his day.

“Flug? That you?” He heard a voice call as he let the door fall closed behind him.

“No, it's a serial killer, maybe you should remember to lock your door,” he snapped back, storming past and into his room.

Dementia popped her head out, armed with another verbal jab and ready to parry, but she hesitated as she saw him stomp by and disappear. She hovered in her doorway, shifting from foot to foot as she heard his door slam with force and a soft thump reverberate afterwards.

It was enough to rattle the new candles (read: Dementia's new impulse buy of the week) set up in a sloppy circle on the table.

She walked slowly over to his door, staring at it for a moment. 5.0.5. nuzzled her leg, and she looked down to see him looking up at her with his big old puppy dog eyes.

“Good idea boy,” she said softly, ruffling his head and tugging at one of his ears. He perked up and yipped, and followed as she turned and headed off into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Flug was stressing in his room. As soon as he'd entered, he'd thrown his backpack roughly onto his desk, ignoring the sound of metal clanking and possible damage to his things. He'd then kicked off his shoes and launched them at the wall, getting a small sense of satisfaction at the say they impacted with force.

It hadn't lasted long though, and then he'd yanked his glasses off to rub at his eyes, throwing them carelessly onto his night stand.

Then, giving up, he'd flopped face first onto his bed, pulled a pillow to his face, and let out a muffled scream.

Everything had gone wrong today, from his alarm not going off, despite him  _ knowing  _ he'd set it the night before, to someone apparently cutting the chain on his bike, rendering it useless and in need of repair. He'd had to run to college on foot, only to find his textbook and wallet hadn't been in his backpack like he'd thought he'd packed last night.

And the cherry on top of the whole terrible day sundae had revealed itself when his project (which, conveniently enough, had been the one thing that was still where he'd thought it should have been) sputtered out and refused to start during his presentation to his professor. He'd stared in horror as the machine, which had been working perfectly last night, completely refused to start up – not even a spark.

Professor G had looked  _ disappointed,  _ which was even worse than him being angry, and had marked down a small F – which seemed much more monumental in Flug's eyes.

He'd promised to let Flug re-do the project after he'd talked to him after class, but that didn't stop Flug from having a minor break-down in the bathroom after that – before being forced to walk home, giving wary looks to the overcast sky the entire way home.

And now the house smelled like some shitty candles that were probably going to aggravate his allergies.

He shoved his face further into the pillow and screamed again.

A soft tapping sounded on the door, and he forced himself to pull himself up a little and turn to look at it. Not that he could see anything right now.

“What?” He asked, and was mortified at how his voice cracked on the word.

“Hey Fluggy-bubby,” Dementia called, “can I come in?”

Flug groaned, if she was already starting with the terrible nicknames, there was no stopping her now, she was on the warpath.

“Fine,” he muttered, and watched as the blurry shape of the door opened slowly. Dementia walked in cautiously, as though she was afraid to startle him.

5.0.5. on the other hand, approached Flug in the same way he approached life, with hurtling speed, enthusiasm, and a lot of love. He came in like a rocket and Flug only had a moment to prepare himself before the dog cleared the side of his bed with one bound and crashed into his chest, showering him with kisses.

“Fives – no – down boy,” he tried, but it was useless. “Fives – bleh!”

He mock spat as 5.0.5. landed a lick squarely on his mouth. He spluttered in indignation, but it quickly deteriorated to helpless giggles as the dog kept on his relentless attack.

“Okay, okay, love you too Fives,” he got out as he managed to push the dog back. Apparently satiated, 5.0.5. spun in a circle and laid on his lap, vacating his field of vision.

It was quickly filled again by the blurry shape of Dementia, shoving something in his face.

“Oh, uh, hold up,” he stammered, reaching blindly for his glasses. He fumbled for a moment, groping blindly, before his hand wrapped around the metal frames and he shoved the lenses back in front of his eyes.

There was Dementia, giving him a lopsided smile and holding out a bowl with one hand and clutching another, mismatched bowl to her chest. (They didn't have a single set of matching dishware, they really were savages.)

He accepted it hesitantly, looking down at the ceramic bowl and its contents.

“Talk to me Flugster,” she said, flopping down at the foot of his bed.

If they had all their conversations over ice cream, they were going to be terribly unhealthy.

Who was he kidding, they already were.

“About what?” He asked, watching as she shoved a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. 5.0.5, being the traitorous animal he was, hopped out of Flug's lap and ran over to Dementia, knowing she was more likely to share her sugary food.

“Whatever's got you down,” she said. Flug watched in disgust as she took a spoonful and let it slide off the spoon, right into the dog's open mouth. At least she didn't let him lick it. “If you want. I can go off if you need to listen to something,” she offered.

Flug furrowed his brow and made a noncommittal noise. Dementia kicked out her feet and slid up the bed until she was next to Flug.

“Do you need – “

“I'm not having an episode Dem,” he cut in, frustrated. That had already happened at school, not that she needed to know that. “I'm just – “ he made a vague gesture, “I had a bad day I guess.”

“Want to talk about it?” She asked, leaning over and bumping her shoulder into his.

He sighed, he knew he could tell her about anything, she was always there for him and he'd been there through her fair share of breakdowns, but this seemed dumb. He didn't know why he was so upset, everything was going to be okay, Professor G had been really nice about it.

“I just feel like – I don't know like the world's out to get me, like everything's going wrong,” he decided at last. That seemed like the best way to put it.

Dementia nodded and hummed, letting him know she was listening.

He sighed again, and took a bite of his ice cream, thinking.

“Or that I can't do anything right,” he said. “That everyone's out to get me.”

His voice cracked again and he stopped, gritting his teeth.

“Oh no, that's not true Flug, you know that,” she hummed softly. “What happened today?”

That was all it took for Flug to go off, detailing every bit of every incident that had gone wrong that day. Dementia gave him a concerned look as he explained.

“Professor G said he'd give me an extension, because he knows how important this project is and he said he knows I can do better – and logically I  _ know  _ that grade won't count and he's letting me re-do it but I just keep thinking of that F and I – “

He broke off. She squeezed his shoulder.

“I can't get a bad grade in this class, I can't. It'll  _ actually  _ ruin my life. It'll set me back and I can't  _ afford  _ – “

“Flug – “ she cut in, squeezing his shoulder again and grounding him. He didn't realize his breathing had been speeding up. He took a deep breath, and let it out. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and leaned in.

“It's going to be alright Flug, you're going to redo that project and get an A, I know you can. I'm sure your bike chain just broke because it’s old, nobody's sabotaging you – and if they were I would personally kick their butt myself. I can take it to go get fixed, and I'll take care of Fives for the week while you work on work. It's going to be fine,” she pulled him to her.

Flug took a deep breath.

“It's going to be okay,” Flug repeated, wrapping his arm around her and giving her a hug.

“It is,” she replied.

The two of them sat in silence as they finished their ice cream.

“Thanks Dem,” he replied at last, letting his spoon clink to the bottom of his bowl.

“No problem Flug, love you,” she said. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she lunged forward and ruffled his hair as he cried out in distress. He shoved at her and she laughed manically, which only set off 5.0.5, who barked loudly at the two of them.

“Love you too Dem,” he muttered. He tried to pout, but his smile couldn't help but break through.

5.0.5. play-bounded at Dementia, and she grinned and shifted, as if to repeat the action back at him. However, before she could finish the motion, 5.0.5. suddenly stood straight, and barked loudly.

He spun around, hair raised, and barked in alarm.

“Five what – “

The two of them were startled as a loud whirring sounded out. Flug almost dropped his bowl (and by that he meant nearly threw it across the room). He stood up and searched for the source of the sound. They both jumped again as a loud vibrating sound rang out too, and Flug was able to locate the source of the sound coming from his backpack still thrown on top of his desk.

He walked over, yanking open the zipper and reaching in to pull out the offenders. He groped around for a moment before wrapping his hands around the whirring objects. He took them out to examine them.

In one hand was his phone. It took him a moment to realize the buzzing was his alarm going off, he'd set it vibrate during class after all, but indeed it was, there were the dismiss and snooze options. He stared in confusion at the screen – the clock was incorrect, reading the time his alarm should have gone off this morning. He watched in shock as the alarm promptly dismissed itself and proceeded to tick forward, rushing through the minutes and hours until it stopped suddenly at the correct time.

His eyes darted wildly over to the other offender. It was his engineering project, his broken engineering project that had refused to turn on in class. His broken, dead, engineering project that was now whirring with life in his hand.

The fan in it clicked on, and it cooled down, the whirring fading to a quiet hum.

Flug turned it off and set it down on his desk. Slowly, he turned back to Dementia and 5.0.5. Dementia had grabbed onto the dog around the neck and had pulled his head to her chest, ruffling his head furiously.

The dog struggled, before pulling out of her grip and jumping off the bed, pacing at the foot of it.

“What was that?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My phone,” he replied, pocketing it and heading back over. “And my engineering project.”

“Oh, is it working then?” She asked, perking up.

“I guess?” He replied, confused. “I mean, maybe that means I won't have to start from scratch, which would be great, but – “

He was cut off by a crash from the kitchen.

He turned to look out the doorway. Dementia gave him a silent look, still trying to wrestle the dog back under control.

Flug sighed and headed off without a word.

Ever since the mud incident, he was having trouble finding explanations for whatever was happening in this damn household. It couldn't be Dementia, unless she was playing a very long, elaborate prank, and he wasn't sure she had the attention span for that. Her pranks tended to rely on immediate gratification and little planning.

And since Dementia had hung one of those dry erase boards on the fridge, the “notes” had been more frequent.

Flug usually just ignored them.

As he entered the kitchen, the first thing he saw was one of Dementia's new candles (probably her new impulse buy of the week and he was sure he'd hear the story of that soon enough) lying on the ground. Luckily, the glass hadn't broken and only a small amount of hot wax had dripped out.

He picked it up and set it back in place on the table, giving the crude circle there a wary eye. He'd have to ask her just what she thought she was getting up to later.

Flug then turned to the fridge, eyes focusing in on the board there and, of course, the new message scrawled across it.

It read, simply,  _ Sorry. _

He glared at it for a second, disbelieving, before a surge of anger ran through him.

“It was – why would you – “ he said, before remembering he wasn't acknowledging Whatever-It-Was's nonsense.

“Whatever,” he huffed in irritation, before turning and leaving the room without another room.

Dementia raised an eyebrow as he entered the room again. She'd managed to wrestle the dog into a choke-hold, but 5.0.5. had seemed to have calmed down and just accepted it as Dementia buried her face into the scruff of his neck.

Flug ignored her silent question and flopped back down onto the bed beside her. 5.0.5. wiggled out of Dementia's hold again and went over to Flug, stepping on his stomach in a way he  _ guessed  _ was supposed to be affectionate, and sitting down directly on him.

“So what's up with the candles?” Flug asked instead of answering once he caught his breath again.

Dementia brightened up, immediately distracted.

“Well you see, I bought this  _ book _ .”

 

* * *

 

Flug should have known it would come to this eventually. His roommate, best friend, was Dementia after all. It seemed obvious now, in retrospect, and Flug didn't know why he didn't suspect that when confronted with a possible supernatural phenomenon, she would immediately by a book on the occult. And a hodgepodge of chalk, herbs, and incense.

And a Ouija Board.

“I feel like this is, maybe, perhaps, not a genuine way to communicate with spirits,” Flug said, giving the off-brand board a look. She'd gotten it from a Halloween store. It had cartoon skeletons on it.

“I thought you didn't believe in spirits,” she countered. She'd set up candles around her room and cut the lights, leaving the entire place lit only by the atmospheric flames. It cast flickering shadows on the wall in a way that set Flug on edge.

Plus it was definitely a fire hazard.

“I don't,” he replied lamely, but by now it was more a token argument to protect his reputation. “But if I did, I don't think this counts as a genuine séance.”

He gave the plastic planchette, in the shape of a skeleton's hand, and the comic sans letters a pointed look.

“Hey, the book said brands don't matter, it's the  _ intent _ behind it,” she replied. “Ghosts don't care if you have a fancy candle, they just care what you do with it.”

Flug resisted making a joke as Dementia gave him a look.

“What your belief is,” she clarified.

“Then are you sure getting me involved is the best idea?” Flug replied, looking down at where her hands were already placed on the planchette.

“Absolutely.” She gave him a manic grin that he really didn't like the implications of. “If I know anything about  _ our  _ ghost is that it loves proving your skeptic ass wrong.”

“It's our ghost now?” He mumbled, but he relented and placed his fingers lightly on the planchette.

“Let's get this show started,” Dementia said gleefully. She glanced over to the open book at her side, scanning it with her eyes one last time, before clearing her throat loudly.

“If there are any spirits with us tonight, please make yourself known,” she said, and Flug almost snorted at her tone. She was obviously trying to be serious, but the way she lowered the pitch of her voice and the prissy inflection did nothing to help Flug take her seriously.

She shot him a look. He rolled his eyes.

They both jumped as the planchette began to move.

Flug gave Dementia another look, but her eyes were glued at the board in delight. Flug knew either she was moving it, or they were moving it unconsciously – their minds playing tricks on their hands, it was the way the game worked – but then again, he felt a chill run down his back and his eyes darted around nervously.

He definitely didn't like it as the planchette settled finally on –

**HELLO**

Dementia practically squealed in delight.

“Greetings spirit!” She exclaimed, completely forgetting her imperious tone from earlier, or to keep her voice lowered.

Flug didn't say anything, and was startled as Dementia landed a sharp elbow in his side.

“Fine, yeah, hello ghost,” he said. He refused to be a part in this other than the second physical body Dementia needed for her scheme.

Dementia pouted, but seemed satisfied enough, she continued on.

“Spirit, are you the one haunting this house?” She asked. Flug rolled his eyes. If there were any ghost here, then it would probably be that one, now wouldn't it.

They watched as the planchette crawled into motion again, moving onto the main part of the board displaying the alphabet, spelling out a longer word instead of just using the YES/NO answers like Flug had expected. It moved at a snail's pace, but that didn't dampen Dementia's visible enthusiasm. They watched as it landed on N, then slid slowly over to O. Dementia frowned suddenly as it landed and paused at T, taking a moment longer than it had at any of the other letters.

“Not – ?” She said, before stopping herself when it began moving again, traveling over and hovering at H. It just kept going, gliding over several other letters, before it finally settled once more on G, and ceased moving.

**NOT HAUNTING**

Dementia gave it a moment, not speaking, before it became clear the ghost was done, and furrowed her brow. Flug was likewise confused, trying to parse out exactly what that meant.

“Then what are you doing?” She asked, voicing the question Flug was thinking but refused to ask, seeing as he still wasn't condoning this.

The planchette didn't hesitate before moving this time, starting by going straight to P, and gliding smoothly across the board, picking up speed, before landing on G once again and stopping.

**POSSESSING**

Well when you put it that way, it sounds a little more menacing. Flug pursed his lips and gave the board a look.

“Possessing... who? Us? Possessing us?” She asked, bouncing once with energy before settling again when she accidentally bumped the board. Flug was concerned at how she seemed almost excited at the idea.

It slid to the the top right of the board.

**NO**

“Oh.” He was equally concerned at how disappointed she sounded. “Uhm... someone we know?”

It left the answer before going right back to it with a little more force than before, dragging Flug's fingers along with it.

**NO**

“The house?” Flug muttered under his breath. Dementia elbowed him, giving him a look. He just stared back, offended. “What?”

The planchette darted over to the top left.

**YES**

“Oh,” she said, staring at the planchette, “huh.”

Flug snorted and rolled his eyes. The planchette swayed slightly, but he wasn't sure whether it was the “ghost” or just his hands moving involuntarily.

“Really? Does it make a difference? Do you really have to make the distinction? That's basically the same thing, right?” He replied, incredulously. He forgot his pledge to not play along in his incredulousness at a ghost arguing the semantics of its own haunting.

The planchette clattered softly, almost comparable to a huff or tap of annoyance – but that was Flug personifying an inanimate object and letting this whole thing get to him, so no, it wasn't that, it was probably Dementia shifting.

It moved suddenly, quicker than before, and with a rush that made it hard to parse out where one word ended and another began. It was also obnoxiously verbose, but when it settled on T, Flug thought he got the message.

**IT IS DIFFERENT**

He glared and felt the urge to argue with it. So he did.

“It really isn't,” Flug replied. “By definition, one means you manifest here, the other means you control objects here, which would require you to manifest here. It is the same.”

“Flug, oh my god,” Dementia said, but she was obviously holding back a laugh.

The planchette jumped into action even faster this time, tracing the same letters, repeating the message.

**IT IS DIFFERENT**

“It is not,” Flug snapped. Dementia snorted.

The planchette moved again, just retracing the beginning of the message and stopping short churlishly.

**IT IS**

“Is not,” he replied childishly.

**IT IS**

“Is not.”

**IT I**

The planchette skittered out of place before it could reach the last letter as Dementia huffed and jostled the board. It jerked for a second before stopping, apparently not bothering to finish the sentence.

“Okay not that this isn't hilarious, but do you really have to argue with the ghost? I mean really Flug, we have an  _ actual ghost  _ in front of us right now and you're arguing over – “

The planchette jumped, clattering on the board and immediately grabbing their attention. It moved quickly, tracing out another message.

**NOT A GHOST**

They stared at where it sat on T for a moment, before Dementia spoke up.

“Oh, well then what are you?” She asked testily. Flug barely held back a full laugh.

“Pfft, see how it is?” He asked, egging her on, but quieted down as the planchette began to move again.

It moved slower than it had before, and for some reason that rubbed Flug the wrong way. He knew it could communicate quickly, but for some reason it lingered on each letter, like it was trying to go for some dramatic effect.

He glanced up at Dementia, who watched with wide eyes and baited breath. Okay, maybe it was working on her at least.

It was a shorter message than the last, and when the planchette stopped on N, he felt a chill go down his spine.

**DEMON**

The two of them sat in silence, staring at the board.

“Oh well that's just...  _ very reassuring _ ,” Flug muttered, eyes darting around the room at how the candles still cast eerie shadows across Dementia's walls.

“I thought you didn't believe in ghost's – or... demons,” Dementia replied, parroting her words from earlier, but without the bite.

“Maybe this wasn't a good idea – “ Flug tried, but Dementia didn't listen. Her one moment of uncertainty had passed and she lit up, already eager and unstoppable again.

“What's your name?” She asked, forging on.

“Okay we're still doing this then,” Flug muttered, watching as the planchette jumped, moving at a normal speed again.

**BLACK HAT**

“B.H.” Dementia whispered almost reverently. It wasn't a question, but the planchette slid over to the YES answer. Flug refrained from commenting.

“Black Hat... what is it that you want?” She asked, and  _ that  _ set off alarm bells in Flug's head.

“Okay, maybe that's not the best idea,” he said, shooting her a look. “Are you sure you want to ask the  _ demon  _ what it  _ wants? _ ”

Dementia ignored him, and his complaint did nothing, seeing as the planchette was already moving again.

Like before, it crawled at a snail's pace. It even seemed to hover, moving slightly, as if it was considering its answer, before it slowly edged its way across the board. It stopped at O, pausing again, before sliding to U, then T. Flug waited for more, the ghost – sorry, _demon,_ was usually very verbose.  But that was it, and Flug didn't like that that was it.

**OUT**

“Okay Dem I think it's time we call it,” he protested, but she was completely ignoring it.

“You want out? Are you trapped?” She asked, bouncing visibly with badly contained excitement.

“Dem – “

It slid to the top left, YES.

“And you want – “

“ _ Dem –  _ “

The planchette wasn't bothering with the dramatic pauses now, it sped up. It was moving faster than it had before, faster than its normal answers, and speeding up with every letter. It gained momentum, as if the demon were getting excited, gaining boldness with every short stop.

**FREEDOM**

“And what do we – “

“Dem stop it!” Flug shouted, retracting his hands from the planchette and clutching them to his chest like he'd been burned.

“I don't think you're supposed to do that,” Dementia said, shocked out of her revery and looking up at Flug.

They both gasped as the planchette flew out of Dementia's hands and skittered across the room, settling on Dementia's carpet near her desk.

“I'm out, I don't like this,” Flug replied, ignoring Dementia's gasp. “Just say goodbye or whatever, end it, I'm done. This isn't funny.”

“I'm pretty sure that's just for if you called one,” Dementia replied instead, and Flug clutched his hands closer and glared at her.

“What's that supposed to mean,” he snapped at her. He'd regret yelling at her later, but for now his blood was pounding and he was on edge.

“Well I mean, usually you call a spirit, right? And then you say goodbye to get it to leave, but... well it already lives here, right? I don't know if we can...” Her eyes darted over to where the planchette lay on the ground. “I don't think that would make it leave.”

Flug felt cold. The room felt suffocating.

“Well aren't you supposed to burn it, or whatever,” he replied instead, still trying to scrape some semblance of control over this situation.

“Again, I'm not sure – “ she looked at Flug's face and shrugged, “I mean sure, I'm always up for a trash can fire, if that'll make you feel better.”

It did not. Flug grimaced.

“You know what? Never mind, please don't burn the house down,” he said.

“We could – “

“Nope, nope, no, absolutely not,” Flug replied, picking himself up off the ground and spinning resolutely towards the door. “I'm going to go to my room and not sleep now, have fun in your haunted room, please keep any and all ghosts, spirits, and/or demons to your side of the apartment.”

Dementia snorted, and let the implication that ghosts were real slide without comment. What she didn't let slide was –

“ _ Possessed  _ room, you mean,” she teased.

“Haunted,” Flug replied firmly, before running out before anything could fly into the air or fall off desks.

Dementia barely restrained herself from a “scaredy-cat,” thrown at his back.

Flug grabbed 5.0.5, who had been pacing restlessly outside of Dementia's door, and high-tailed his way to his bedroom, closing the door soundly behind him.

He didn't hear as Dementia picked herself up, moving over to scoop up the planchette. She plopped back down in her place next to the Ouija board, setting the planchette back down and grinning.

“So, Black Hat,” she said quietly, “Tell me more about yourself, won't ya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There's ice cream, but none for B.H. The kids will rue the day" -Niki when I asked for help with a summary (put at the end for spoiler reasons of course)
> 
> As always, let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!!
> 
> Tumblr is jadetigress.tumblr.com, blah blah, yada yada, what not


	4. Roses Are Always Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As if college hadn't been hard enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure I had this chapter done for like,, half a week now oops  
> I was planning on completing some other works/maybe something new to post with this update but guess what? I'm a snail writer and capitalism has got me good with that working for the cost of living bullshit, but I hope you guess enjoy this update anyway!
> 
> Warnings include the simultaneous abuse of flower meanings while not actually explaining any of them and highly vague and probably inaccurate demon magics(?)
> 
> (edit -- fuckinn Ao3,, let me put emojis in my titles,, pLeAsE)

“Flug, remind me to speak to you after class, I'll definitely forget otherwise.”

The voice caused Flug to startle, he'd been half-falling asleep skimming over last night's assigned reading for the second time. He jolted upright and blinked, giving his professor a wide-eyed look.

His panic must have been blatant on his face, the perfect example of an anxious deer in the proverbial educational-system headlights, because Professor Goode just smiled in amusement and took pity on him.

“Only good things Flug, don't have a heart attack,” he said as he continued past and to the front of the room.

Flug sighed in relief, sagging down in his chair. The rest of the students, who had all been chatting and socializing (without him of course), finally settled down and looked up as the professor called for their attention.

It only worked because _everyone_ liked Professor G. He was respected among the students for being that chill professor who shows up in a lab coat with unexplained stains on some days and t-shirts on others, or that cool professor that overrides the automatic shut-off in the microwave so you can microwave dangerous substances and watch grapes explode and turn into plasma.

After the incident with his botched invention, Flug was desperate to impress his engineering professor. It had all turned out alright in the end, Professor G had been ecstatic to see Flug's working project not a day later and had even commented on how impressed he was with its final result and the fast turn around from paperweight to practical invention in such a short time.

The man, angel that he was, had graded Flug as if nothing had happened.

That didn't stop Flug from constantly worrying he was disappointing the man.

Class proceeded normally, better than normally actually as nothing caught on fire or exploded seeing as today was a paperwork day, and soon enough it was time for class to end. Some students rushed out immediately and some milled around as Professor G began to pack up his own supplies in the front of the room.

Flug hesitated, hovering nervously by his desk, before marching over and up to his professor.

It took a moment for the man to notice him, what with his nervous hovering just out of normal conversation distance, but he looked up and caught Flug's eye.

“Oh, Flug, that's right,” he said, smiling. Flug smiled back, but despite the man's earlier reassurances it was still tainted with a nervous edge.

“What was it you wanted to speak with me about professor?” He asked, finally taking the last few steps closer.

“I actually wanted to tell you about something,” the professor responded, straightening up and slinging his messenger-bag over one shoulder. “An old colleague just e-mailed me recently about an opportunity I thought you would be interested in.”

“I – uh, what?” Flug said. Eloquent.

“It's like a convention for promising students like yourself,” Professor G said, and Flug just blinked in shock. “Kind of like uh, like a summit I guess? Plus it's got some scholarship opportunities tied to it and I know we talked about that before, so when she mentioned it I told her about you.”

“I...” Flug looked around the room, trying to come up with a response other than “why me?” but as his eyes searched around uselessly, he found everyone else had finally trailed out and nothing had magically changed in the classroom since he’d last checked.

“Why me?” He asked, belatedly.

“Because you're my best student, I thought you knew that,” Professor G said, and Flug just let out a small huff of disbelief. “Your project for the semester would be a great entry, the combination of hardware and software is astounding, despite its original complication. Honestly, I’m a little concerned you’re going to create a robot overlord, it _does_ follow the laws of robotics, right?”

The professor laughed, and Flug blushed slightly, ducking his head and smiling.

He didn’t mention that he’d had the idea for the robot only after Dementia had begged him for a way to flirt with one of the film majors.

“I mean, it’s not done yet – “ Flug tried to protest.

“It doesn’t have to be, the summit mostly revolves around the students anyway, it would just be a glimpse into what you can do. Plus it would be a great thing to put on your resume, good experience, I have more information in my office if you're interested,” he said.

“Of course,” Flug replied. He felt like the professor was making a mistake, he knew many of his classmates out-performed him and Professor Goode had to know that too, but he wasn't about to point that out now.

Professor Goode smiled brightly.

“Great.”

Flug tailed after his professor as they traveled down the stairwell and through the hall to his office. Once there, the man handed Flug a print-out, detailing the requirements of the (oh no, he hadn't mentioned it was a – ) _competition_ and how to enter. Flug felt his stomach drop and he gripped the edges of the paper a little too harshly, crinkling it.

“Flug, what's wrong?” Professor G asked, and Flug started, zoning back in.

“Nothing, sorry, it's just – you didn't say it was a competition,” he said. The words fell clunkily from his mouth and he pursed his lips in frustration.

“Didn't I? Ah, well, I still think you should submit an application, I'll sponsor you of course.”

Flug held himself back from a self-deprecating comment. He just sighed and stared at the words _National_ emblazoned proudly across the top of the flier.

There was no way he was going to win a _national_ competition.

He looked back up at his professor, who was still smiling at him as if nothing was wrong.

“Plus I know the host,” he said, giving him a conspiratorial wink, “and she is – “ he paused for dramatic effect, which Flug did not appreciate in the slightest but he didn't notice, “completely unbiased,” he chuckled, Flug gave a lopsided smile, “ _but_ she trusts my judgment so she'll give you a fair shot I know. I honestly think she'd really like you.”

“I'll, uh, I'll give it a shot,” Flug replied, halfheartedly.

Professor G frowned, giving Flug a sympathetic look he hadn't expected. He'd thought the man was just oblivious.

“Flug,” he said, and Flug tensed at the tone – he sounded disappointed, oh no. “I know you have trouble believing in yourself, but can you believe in me?”

Flug nodded nervously.

“Well _I_ believe in you, you've got such great potential Flug, and I'd hate to see it smothered because you're afraid to put yourself out there or to fail.”

That struck closely, Flug winced and glanced down at his hands, still clutching the paper.

“So, you don't have to, of course, but I would really like to see you try. Just mull it over and get back to me later, okay?”

Flug looked up again, locking eyes with his professor. He gave Flug an expectant look. Flug cleared his throat and folded up the paper in his hands, tucking it into his pocket.

“I'll do it,” he said at last, “I'll try, you're right, I have to at least try.”

Professor G smiled widely, he looked genuinely excited for Flug.

“I'm glad to hear it Flug, I know you'll do great. You'll need to submit an essay, then there's a series of interviews, and like I said I'll be your sponsor,” he said, straightening the papers on his desk and popping open his laptop.

“Yeah, I really appreciate – “

“It means I get a free trip too if you win,” he said, and laughed as Flug made an affronted face, “ _and_ I want to support your future as the next great inventor who changes the world, of course.”

Flug's nervousness finally broke away, and he gave his professor a genuine smile.

“Thanks G,” Flug said, “I mean it.”

“No problem Flug, just promise me you'll get that essay submitted on time,” he replied.

Flug held onto the paper in his pocket, crumpling it slightly unconsciously in his tight grip.

“I promise.”

 

-

He was reading, and rereading, and rereading the requirements as he sat on the quad outside the arts building. His nose was glued to the flier, the shadow of his own head blocking out the light of the sun that would otherwise actually be helping him read.

He fit all of them, but his anxiety kept driving him to reread and reread, trying to make sure there was nothing that excluded him or any loophole he wasn't finding.

He was so engrossed in the paper that he didn't notice his nefarious roommate sneaking up behind him until she was already there and suddenly a pair of hands were covering his eyes from behind.

“Guess who,” she sang, flopping her weight across him from behind.

She must have just gotten out of dance because she was sticky with sweat.

“Ew! Stop! You're gross!” Flug shouted, trying to throw her off, but she just leaned more of herself onto him and made herself dead-weight, causing Flug to flounder and kick at her to no avail.

“No, that's not right,” she snickered as Flug swatted at her like she was a particularly annoying and _heavy_ fly.

“Dem, come on, you're sweaty, it's gross, stop it,” Flug said, finally getting a grip on her shoulders and shoving her off him forcefully. She went with it, flopping backwards onto the grass. “Eugh.”

“Ruude,” Dementia replied. She stretched out lazily like a cat, absorbing the sun and lounging on the grass.

“You are,” Flug replied childishly.

“That too,” she said, smirking up at him.

She definitely had come straight from dance, because her extensions weren't on. They were too heavy and tended to whirl around and smack her in the face when she was spinning. Her normal hair still hung down to her shoulders, but it was a little more manageable and, _supposedly,_ more professional. (Not that firetruck red was professional but it was better than lime green... in theory.)

She was also still in her leotard, not bothering to change, as she didn't have any more classes. The pair of them had long since memorized each other's schedules, sitting outside classrooms and lounging on benches waiting for each other.

“How was class?” He asked, flopping down on the lawn of the quad beside her and staring up at the clouds as his glasses darkened to adjust to the increase in sunlight.

“Same old, Jane rode us until some chick almost passed out again. I swear, one day she's gonna get arrested for straight up killing one of us,” Dementia replied, rolling her eyes and stretching again. Flug winced as one of her joints, her shoulder, popped audibly. She just sighed in relief and settled back down.

“How 'bout you?” She asked, turning towards him.

“Good,” Flug replied, shifting and holding the flier to his chest.

“What's that?” Dementia asked, immediately zeroing in on the offending paper.

Flug sighed, tapping absently on his chest. Of course she would.

“It's just some flier on a stupid competition Professor G said I should enter,” he replied, not looking at her and instead counting the clouds as they sailed across the sky.

“Competition?” She pressed, unrelenting, in typical Dementia fashion.

“Yeah, it's some competition for promising students or something.” He tried to play it off, but Dementia's gaze was piercing, she wasn't having it. He sighed. “It's, like, a national competition to attend this prestigious summit and Professor G seems to actually think I have a chance, apparently he knows the judge or something and he said he thinks she'd like me.”

“That's great Flug!” Dementia exclaimed, propping herself up on her elbows and grinning widely at him. “You _have_ to enter!”

“I mean – “ Flug stuttered, looking up at her nervously. “I told Professor G I would, but – “

“No buts my friend,” Dementia cut in. “I know you and you'll come up with any excuse not to, so I'm un-excusing you right now. You _have to!_ ”

“But – but what if I don't win? And Professor G is disappointed in me?” He asked, frowning.

“If he thinks you can win, that means he believes you can win, and if you don't I'm sure he'll be mad at the judges, not you,” Dementia replied, shrugging. “Plus isn't G like, the coolest professor?”

“I mean he'd pretty great. But that’s exactly why – “

“Didn't the physics class put, like, fifteen peeps in the microwave? And he just watched and laughed?” She asked.

“Actually it was twenty-seven,” Flug corrected, smiling widely.

“Why do you guys have all the fun while I'm dancing my way into early arthritis?” She asked, pouting, but when Flug opened his mouth to counter she just punched him playfully and cut him off. He winced and rubbed at the spot, but his mood was genuinely lifted again.

“So you're gonna do it?” She asked.

“Yeah, I'm going to enter,” he replied, smiling and tucking the paper back into his pocket.

“Cool, because I need to get home and take a shower, and if you spent any longer brooding in the middle of a crowded quad in broad daylight I'd have to either punch you or show you the better brooding places. Because you're doing it _so_ wrong,” she said, grinning mischievously as she hopped to her feet.

“Hey!” Flug said, but she was already grasping a hold of his arm and yanking him upright.

“We better get home before Fives wrecks the place again,” Dementia said. She headed off, tracing the path home unconsciously.

“If he did, _you're_ cleaning it up this time,” Flug muttered, falling into step beside her without skipping a beat. “Don't think I've forgotten last time.”

“Forgiven, but never forgotten,” Dementia sighed dramatically.

“Not so sure about that first part either,” Flug countered. Dementia just grinned impishly and shrugged.

The two of them settled into a comfortable silence for a moment, and Flug was grateful that she had gone to school on foot with him. He still hadn't managed to fix his crappy old bike yet, and she'd forgone her skateboard that she usually rode to accompany him – despite her making it out to be some great charity case, much to Flug's annoyance. She said, and he quoted, she did it so he “wouldn't look so sad and lame.”

But he really did appreciate that she was willing to leg it with him, even after her strenuous dance class.

“I think Fives is scared of Black Hat,” she said after a moment. “It explains why he's been so skittish lately, but I don't understand why it just started recently.”

Flug sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Dem – “

“No, come on, humor me for a second here,” Dementia said, giving him a pleading look, “If not for me, then for the _mystery._ ”

She accentuated the last word and wiggled her eyebrows at him. Flug scowled, but only because he knew it would work and he knew that she knew that it would work.

“Fine,” he sighed.

“I mean, we've been renting that place for almost half a semester now,” she continued, ignoring Flug's second heavy sigh and trudging on, “but the spooky stuff has been going on for only a few weeks, isn't that weird?”

Flug gave a look at the other students passing by as they left campus, and hoped they didn't hear.

He was already the guy with the blue dog, he didn't want to be the guy with the haunted apartment too.

(Though his reputation often garnered mixed reactions, ranging from “why is your dog blue, how did that even happen,” to “your parents let you have a _dog?_ ” neither of which he really appreciated or wanted attention for. The best reaction was usually “oh my god, what a cute puppy!” followed by the person completely ignoring Flug in favor of his dog, which he usually appreciated.)

“Maybe the ghost – “

“Demon,” Dementia corrected.

Flug gave her a look, and she just smirked and shrugged.

“Okay, maybe the demon just started haunting – “

“Possessing, he's very insistent on that – “

“Maybe the _demon_ just started _possessing_ our house recently,” Flug said, cutting her off and asserting his statement with authority, as that was the only way to ever get a word in edgewise with her.

“No, he's been there the whole time! Which is why it's weird that he just started acting up,” Dementia insisted, waving her hands to emphasize her point and nearly smacking Flug in the face.

“How do you know that?” Flug asked, reaching up to tug on his backpack straps and giving her a questioning look.

She faltered at that, opening her mouth but failing to produce an answer, and Flug made a pointed note of it.

“Well I mean, he's been knocking stuff over from the beginning at least, remember? He's always messed up your projects and pushed my lamp. It's just recently he's communicated and all that.” She finally looked at him and gave him a smile. He just narrowed his eyes, but she didn't react, just kept on skipping along and grinning.

“Well I guess the only other explanation would be he's getting...” Flug pursed his lips and searched for a word. “More bold?” He sighed, exasperated. “Dem you know I don't – “

“Or stronger?” Dementia ventured, eyes lighting up with excitement and mania.

Flug contorted his face in concern, biting his lip and side-eyeing Dementia.

“I wouldn't put it that way, for several reasons,” he said finally, reluctantly.

“Why not?” She asked, reaching up and clutching at her strap, hands restless as they always were.

“Well, because I don't like the implication of that for one – “

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“ _Well_ ,” Flug said, perhaps a bit too harshly, but he was tired of being interrupted. “Because it implies that something _made_ him get stronger, and that he's going to keep – urgh, I don't know – _escalating?_ I guess?”

Flug dropped his gaze to his feet and kicked at the ground.

He regretted it when he nearly tripped, but he quickly caught himself and proceeded to pretend nothing happened.

Dementia snorted, but didn't comment.

“And what if he did?” She said, catching Flug off guard with the serious tone in her voice.

“Did what?” It was his turn to ask the stumped questions, blinking owlishly at his friend.

“ _'I don't know, escalated,'_ ” she parroted back, mimicking his words. He just scowled at her, and to his surprise she actually frowned and gave him an apologetic, mumbled, 'sorry,' before continuing.

“I mean, isn't it like, actually a super cool thing that's going on? I know you don't like it or believe it or whatever, but Flug this is – this is amazing!”

She threw her hands out, grinning widely and looking at him for confirmation, or support, or any kind of sign that he was on her side, any give at all.

He just frowned and avoided her eyes.

“Honestly? I just want it all to go away.”

She deflated, obviously disappointed in him. He didn't want to think about why that was.

“So you're not on my side in this?” She asked, and he looked up at her in concern at the flatness of her tone.

“In _what?_ ” He asked, furrowing his brow and staring at her.

“Nothing,” she muttered. He wanted to press further, but she steamrolled over him again. “Besides, you don't believe in ghosts, right?”

She looked at him again, meeting his eyes and giving him a lopsided smile.

He wanted to say something, but he hesitated.

He knew an olive branch from her when he saw one, though he couldn't quite pin down when they'd ended up on opposite sides in whatever fight Dementia had concocted in her mind. The whole conversation had been _weird,_ and he was quick to put it behind him.

“Of course, not until I have hard proof,” he said, giving her a teasing smile.

She laughed.

“Not 'til he shows up in your bedroom himself?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Invites you to a candlelit dinner?”

“I mean you have enough of them laying around now... I expect flowers,” Flug played along, nodding solemnly. It worked, setting Dementia off into a fit of giggles.

“Oh my god, okay, sure, I'll let him know,” she said between gasps.

“I've always been a fan of daisies,” he continued, pretending to look contemplative. “Though roses are always nice.”

Dementia lost it. She managed to keep a straight face for exactly two seconds before she doubled over, hysterical.

He chuckled too, walking past her as they approached their door. He pulled out his key and paused, staring at the chalk symbol on the door.

“By the way, I never got around to asking yesterday, what the heck is this Dem?” He pointed at the symbol and gave her a raised eyebrow.

She stumbled again, arousing Flug's suspicion once more as she froze up a second before grinning widely.

“It's just a thing from that book,” she said at last, brushing it off, “I thought it would help us communicate with him.”

“With the Ouija board?” He asked, inserting the key and turning the knob slowly.

“Yeah,” she replied.

Seemed honest enough, but something about the way she brushed by him and didn't elaborate made him skeptical.

It struck him that maybe she was still talking to the 'demon.' She still had the board, and that would go along with why she embraced the force so quickly, referring to it by name and treating it like a 'person'. He pursed his lips. He didn't really like that idea, but there wasn't really anything to do about it.

He closed the door behind him, and was startled as 5.0.5. ran up to him, nails clicking on the floor as he panted and spun in excitement. He chuckled and ruffled the dog's ears, successfully distracted.

“Want to go for a walk boy?” He asked, smiling as the dog's excitement grew at the word 'walk,' yipping playfully and spinning again.

He laughed, dropping off his bag and grabbing the leash.

He only noticed Dementia again as she shouted for him to 'hold the door.’ He raised an eyebrow and waited as he heard several bangs in her room, and she emerged a few minutes later, changed into her casual clothes.

“Coming along?” he asked, smiling. “What happened to getting a shower?” He asked, teasingly.

“No, and I realized I actually have some shopping to do,” she said, brushing past him and turning the opposite way. Flug frowned.

“What, more candles?” He tried to tease, but it flew past her again.

“Actually I was going to get some… plants, uh, flowers,” she muttered, walking off without him.

“Oh, okay,” he fumbled, watching her, “see you later?”

But she was already out of earshot and marching determinedly down the street.

“Huh,” he said, looking down at 5.0.5, who was still panting with glee and pulling at the leash impatiently. “Okay, fine boy, let’s go.”

5.0.5. immediately took off after a bird, dragging Flug along with him.

“No boy! No! Oh for the love of _–_ “

 

-

 

Flug stared blankly at the blinking cursor that flickered in and out of existence, keeping a steady pace and taunting Flug as he wracked his brain frantically for a place to start.

It was always so hard to start an essay, even harder to talk about himself. So starting an essay about _himself?_ Terrible. _Impossible_ even.

He sighed, fingers hovering above the keys.

God, this was like his college application essays all over again, though those had mostly consisted of: 'Pretty please get me out of this awful place. I'll do anything, even be in debt for the rest of life you terrible capitalist institution.'

Except maybe less of the latter and more of the former.

He drove the thought away, and focused in on the prompt once again. He'd already filled out the application and written several answers already, but for some reason this one had him stumped. Recounting a tale where he'd used his problem solving and science skills, listing his accomplishments in a mechanical way, writing a potential solution to a theoretical puzzle, those had been fine, but this one caught him up and had him staring blearily at his accursed screen.

_Why do you want to attend this summit?_

He had a variety of potential answers in front of him. He could be blunt, say he needed the connections and scholarship money. He could be idealistic, say he wanted to work with other 'great young minds' to 'change the world.' He could he realistic, though he wasn't sure 'my professor made me do it' was an acceptable answer.

He sighed, shutting his laptop and glaring at an empty spot on his wall. When he got no relief from that, he turned, and glared out his window instead.

The moon hung full in the sky, lighting up the darkness, and he vaguely remembered something about it being some sort of event – a super moon, or blue moon, or harvest moon, something like that.

To Flug, it just signalled how he’d been working on the application well into the night. He didn't have class the next day, so he could potentially work all night, but his brain just couldn't get over this block.

However, he knew one thing that always helped when he just couldn't get his work done.

He smiled, hopping out of bed and placing his laptop down on his desk. He threw on a hoodie, sticking his hands in the pockets and tugging the hood up so it sat higher around his neck. Then, he strode out of his room and knocked gently on Dementia's.

“Hey Dem?” He called. She didn't answer right away, so he frowned and readjusted his glasses as he waited for an answer.

“Dem?” He tried again, and raised an eyebrow as he heard a loud bang from inside the room followed shortly by a ' _ow!_ '

“What?!” She called back, and Flug winced slightly at how she snapped at him.

“I was going to get some ice cream down the street,” he said.

The door cracked open, and Dementia stuck her head out. She leaned a shoulder on the door-frame, casually blocking Flug's view of the rest of the room.

“Okay,” she said.

She looked at him, he looked at her, expecting her to continue. She did not.

He frowned.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come?” He asked.

“Sorry, I'm busy,” she replied, stone-faced.

He must have unintentionally given her that kicked puppy face he denied he had, because she faltered, and looked slightly guilty.

“Maybe next time, Flug? I have work I have to get done,” she said, shifting from one foot to the other.

“So do I,” he muttered, “I just – ah, never mind. Good luck on your work then?”

“Thanks,” she said, grinning. Something flashed in her eyes. “I'll see you later then?”

“Yeah, see you later,” he grumbled, and she closed the door in his face.

He turned to leave, sulking, when 5.0.5. whined, catching his attention. The dog was pacing nervously, in a way Flug had come to associate with the 'totally not supernatural' occurrences in the house. His hair was raised, and he was obviously distressed.

Flug took a moment to watch him, noticing how he pawed at Dementia's door, before pacing again.

Oh, maybe she was using that damn Ouija board again.

Flug wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse at being turned down.

“Come on boy, why don't we go for another walk?” He asked, crouching down and reaching out to him.

He was surprised when 5.0.5. shied away from his touch, whimpering and pawing at Dementia's door again.

Flug frowned, he straightened up and grabbed the leash. He tried to clip it to 5.0.5's collar, but the dog darted away.

“Fives? Boy, come on, why don't we get out of the house, maybe that'll calm you down,” he hummed. It took a couple more tries, but he finally managed to clip the leash in place, and pulled the dog towards the door. He whined again, but didn't resist as Flug lead him out the door and into the night.

It was safer to walk with his dog anyway, and he didn't want 5.0.5. to wreck the house _again,_ so the two of them strolled down the street towards the nearby park.

He didn't really feel like ice cream anymore, not without Dementia, and he didn't want to have to tie 5.0.5. outside while he went inside the ice cream place anyway.

The moon was bright, lighting up the night practically as if it were daytime. It shone down, giving the trees of the park an ethereal glow, turning the green leaves a shade of ghostly blue, reflecting off their waxy surface.

The spring flowers waved around slightly in the soft breeze, and Flug watched as a petal from one of the flowering bushes was plucked off and drifted lazily to the ground.

He sat on a bench and sighed, 5.0.5. was still acting antsy, refusing to settle down at his feet as he continued to stand.

He felt uneasy, but maybe it was just because 5.0.5. was also acting odd. He felt like he was being watched, but nobody else was in the park this late at night – not unless there was some murderer hiding away. The thought worried him, but he trusted 5.0.5. to keep him safe.

Another cool breeze passed by, and he shivered despite his warm hoodie. The night was oddly cold, and the wind picking up didn't help. The branches on the trees began to rattle, morbidly reminding Flug of clattering bones despite the fact they were filled with leaves and life, not barren like in the winter months.

There was hardly a cloud in the sky, so when apparently the _one_ cloud in the sky passed in front of the moon and bathed the park in shadows, Flug couldn't help but take it as a bad omen.

Not that he believed in omens, or luck, but for some reason he was feeling superstitious tonight and he just didn't like it.

He stood up, setting 5.0.5. off again as the dog began to pant. They continued down the path together, and Flug was grateful as the cloud passed and light filtered through again.

Even if it did make everything a spooky shade of blue.

Flug paused as they approached the end of their lap around the park. He glanced over to a nearby flower bed, admiring the blossoms there. Someone obviously spent a great deal of time cultivating it. He saw a variety of flowers, from roses to daffodils, to daisies, to a number of others he couldn't put a name to.

He hovered, fingers twitching, as he admired the beautiful sight.

His mind drifted to Dementia’s comment about buying plants and flowers earlier. He didn’t understand why she’d gotten a sudden interest in them… but…

A few couldn't hurt, wouldn't be missed.

Dementia had been acting weird lately, and he still remembered how he'd somehow brought her down on their walk home. He felt bad about that, and something about the way she’d been avoiding him lately really brought him down as well.

Come to think of it, she’d joked about flowers then too. Perhaps another joke about flowers would perk her up, which would in turn perk Flug up.

Hell, they could even leave one in a vase for the 'ghost' if she'd like.

He thought about that for a moment, smirking to himself.

Of course she'd like that.

He smiled, leaning in and searching among the blossoms. He remembered vaguely reading about flower meanings, and tried to recall what little information he had. Dementia was his best friend, and he remembered something about yellow roses and friendship – though it would probably fly over her head and honestly, he didn't think there were any yellow roses among the bushes.

So he plucked a single daffodil out from its cluster, and watched as it turned almost white in the light of the moon. He brought it up to his face, turning it slightly and admiring the way the petals grabbed onto the light and fluttered slightly in the breeze.

He nodded, shifting it to the hand holding the leash as he continued searching, on the lookout for other flower bunches, one of which wouldn't be missed.

He smiled to himself as he found a patch of daisies. He hadn’t lied, he had always been fond of those, they were so innocent and cheerful. He picked one, and turned to 5.0.5. The dog had finally sat down, taking a rest as he continued to pant heavily.

He held it up to 5.0.5, and watched as the dog paused in his panting to sniff gingerly at the blossom.

5.0.5. sneezed, disrupting the air and causing the flower to sway. Flug giggled, and tucked it into the dog's collar. Luckily, 5.0.5. put up with his whim, and just went back to panting and staring off down the path with intensity.

He bit his bottom lip and turned back to the bushes and stems. A rose was a classic, wasn't it? He was about to reach out to the bush when his eyes locked in on a different plant right next to the rose bush. He made a soft 'ooh' sound, tilting his head and taking in the unfamiliar blossom.

It was a light pink – or at least he thought it was, the moonlight made it seem more purple than it probably was. The inside was lighter, gradually growing more opaque as the petals sprawled open. It was familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Flug ducked his head, squinting at the ground, eyes finally honing it on the plaque sitting nearly in front of the planted bush.

_Begonia, Begonia obliqua_

Well that was simple enough, wasn't it?

He pulled off a blossom, hesitating a moment before tucking it behind his ear. He was about to straighten up, get up and move on, now that he had a flower for each of them, but his eyes fell back on the rose bush.

He tapped his foot and bit at his lip, thinking.

Dementia really would get a kick out of that, wouldn't she?

He sighed, shifting and tugging at one of the flowers, a white one.

It came loose easily, and he shifted it over to hold it with the same hand as the daffodil and the leash.

He felt a prick, and cursed, dropping the rose to the ground. He pressed down on the small drop of blood that had started to well up on the tip of his thumb.

“Of course,” he muttered, and shifted the leash and flower to his other hand, pressing down harder on the cut to stop the bleeding.

It wasn't that bad, it stopped quickly and didn't even hurt.

Soon enough, he was bending down and scooping up the rose again, careful to avoid the thorns this time. He held it carefully, turning it around in his hands to make sure it wasn't damaged from its brief stay on the cold path. After a moment, which he took to decide it was fine, he took it, the daffodil, and the leash once more in hand and began his trip back to the apartment.

He felt a little silly, what with the flowers in his hand, behind his ear, and on his dog, but he didn't run into anyone else on the way home, and before too long he was back at his front door, fishing his keys out of his pocket with his free hand.

He turned the knob, and 5.0.5. immediately began to whine again, shaking and forcing his way into the apartment in front of Flug.

“Jeez Fives, what's gotten into – “

He froze when he smelled smoke.

5.0.5. immediately dashed to Dementia's door, clawing at it furiously and barking frantically.

Flug dropped the flowers just inside the threshold and rushed forwards.

Oh god, had Dementia finally set fire to the house with those stupid candles? Was she okay?

He didn't bother knocking, he went straight for the knob, only to find it locked. He gasped, jiggling it frantically.

“Dem? Dementia? Is something burning?” He asked. Nothing was obviously smoking, but still. “Are you okay? Dem?!”

To his surprise, the door unlocked with a click, and he wasted no time shoving it open and rushing in.

What he saw, left him stunned and in shock.

Her room looked similar to how it had just a few nights ago when they'd had that 'séance' at Dementia's insistence. Candles were scattered about, but instead of randomly like they had been last time, now they were arranged in perfect circles, a spiral expanding out from the center of her room – to which Flug's eyes were drawn.

He stared agape, at where Dementia lay sprawled across the ground – and where the smoke was originating from. A candle that she must have knocked down, had caught on what looked like a bundle of plants.

It didn't appear to be a serious fire, but it would most certainly spread if he didn't do something.

But Flug was much more concerned with how Dementia appeared unconscious, lying on her side, limp on the ground, deathly still.

And how she was lying in front of a intricately drawn chalk pentagram, the epicenter of the expanding spiral of candles and sigils drawn around the room.

And how there was a – _a thing_ – standing directly in the center of said chalk pentagram.

He was frozen in place, knees locked and feet glued to the ground, as the thing – person? – spun quickly to look at the door that had swung open violently.

“Wonderful timing!” It shouted, clapping it's hands together in glee. “I was concerned the house would burn down before you returned, but here you are, reliable as always Flug.”

Flug's mouth went dry, and his vision narrowed. He felt faint.

The man in front of him was dressed in a suit, under-lit by the flickering light of the candles and spreading fire. However, he cast no shadow, and the only evidence he was even in the same room was the reflection of the glinting flames on his monocle.

His skin was an ash black, and his face was inhuman. He smiled a wicked grin, showing off the teeth of a predator, sharp fangs that inspired a deep-rooted instinct of fear in Flug – as if he had a built in flight reaction to this strange figure.

“I – what – “ Flug stammered, eyes locked on the man.

“You see, I'm a little stuck, and you should probably do something about that before it spreads,” he said, gesturing towards where the smoking herbs smoldered, crawling slowly towards Dementia's bedspread.

Flug didn't respond, not verbally, but he forced down the feeling of terror that told him to turn and get out, and instead rushed into the room, stomping down on the bundle of plants until it died out.

“Excellent, thank you Flug, I'd hate to see this place go out before I had a chance to – “

Flug ignored the man, and instead fell to his knees, scooping Dementia's limp body up into his arms.

“Oh, no, I'm sorry but she won't be able to – “

“Dem? Dem wake up. What's wrong?” He shook her, but she gave no response. He felt a wave of terror wash over him, and he lifted a finger to her throat, searching for her pulse. He sighed in relief as he found it, but it was almost immediately overruled as he noticed how slow it was.

“Flug, Flug are you even listening to me?” The man asked, petulantly.

“What did you do to her?” He hissed. His attention snapped up to the – well he wasn't really a man, was he?

“Black Hat?” Flug's eyes widened as his belated brain caught up, supplying the only possible explanation. He couldn't deny it anymore, and he clutched Dementia closer as he faced off against what must have been a demon – a demon who Dementia had, what? _Summoned?_

“Indeed,” he replied, crossing his arms across his chest. His shirt was a deep blood red, which was only emphasized by the candles. “And I didn't do anything. It's not my fault the girl – “

“Fix her!” He shouted, clenching his fists around her so tightly it was sure to bruise, but he didn't care. “Whatever you did, undo it!”

Black Hat glared, tapping a foot impatiently. For a moment, he leaned forward, as if to reach out or step out of the circle, but he froze as he approached the edge. He grimaced and leaned back again, returning to his position.

“I told you, I didn't do anything. The dull girl thought she could sustain a pact with me all by herself, and, as you can see,” he waved a hand dismissively at Dementia's unconscious body, “she cannot.”

“ _Pact?_ ” Flug asked, voice rising and edging on hysterical. “What – I – “

“I told her to convince you, but she insisted,” Black Hat rolled his one visible eye, and Flug bristled at the casual tone and lack of concern.

Of course, why would he be concerned, he was a _literal demon_ that had been _possessing_ their house and that Dementia had just _summoned_ and tried to _make a pact with –_ apparently _failed_ to make a pact with.

And now – now she was –

“Is she okay? Is she going to – “

Flug's voice hitched.

“She's not going to die,” Black Hat said, and Flug's heart jumped in relief until he continued, “though I'm not sure if she's going to wake up either.”

“What – “

“Which would be unfortunate for all involved...” Black Hat reached up and rubbed at his chin, in thought.

Flug didn't bother to try and talk anymore, Black Hat wasn't listening and he didn't have anything to say anyway.

“I'm really not a fan of being stuck in this forsaken children's doodle for eternity,” he toed at the edge of the ring, and grimaced. Flug just stared at Dementia.

Flug didn't say anything, he still couldn't believe this was happening. This wasn't _real._ None of this could be real.

“ _Unless..._ ” Black Hat hummed, eyes falling on Flug's hunched form. He smiled, wicked grin lighting up and showing off his canines. “Well she said she couldn't convince you before, but perhaps you'll be swayed now.”

Flug's eyes slowly raised to the demon. At first he just stared, gaze unfocused, before his eyes hardened and he glared at Black Hat.

This only seemed to delight the other, he grinned and clapped his gloved hands together.

“One simple human girl doesn't have enough life to support my energy,” he said. Flug's scowl deepened at the other's tone, patronizing, as if he were a kindergarten teacher explaining a new concept to a child. “But perhaps two humans could do the trick.”

“What do you mean?” Flug asked, voice dangerously flat and cold.

“Why, I'm offering you a way to fix this! Improve the outcome for all of us!” Black Hat waved a hand at Dementia and him, but apparently he brushed against the edge of the pentagram, because he retracted his hand quickly, wincing.

“What does that _mean_?” Flug repeated, staring at the demon.

Black Hat frowned, crossing his arms. He looked like he was about to go off when Flug cut in again.

“What do I have to do?” He said.

Black Hat's frown quickly morphed into a open-mouthed grin again.

“Simple, make a pact with me. It should take half the strain off your delightfully enthusiastic, but painfully rash friend. I'm sure she'll be back on her feet in no time at all, and,” his smile morphed, pressing together and quirking up even more at the edges, “I'll be able to step out and greet you properly.”

Flug didn't like the sound of that, didn't like the sound of any of this.

A small sound distracted him, his eyes fell down to Dementia and he held her tighter as a small sigh escaped her lips. She felt cold, deathly so, and Flug's stomach dropped out from under him.

“Oh dear, maybe she's worse off than I thought,” Black Hat said, almost mockingly. Flug pinned him with another glare, but Black Hat just gave him an innocent look, bringing one gloved hand up to his cheek and the other to rest over where his heart would theoretically be. “Better make a decision now, shouldn't we?”

“What does that mean?” Flug said in a rush, panic obvious in his voice. “Make a pact?”

“Well, it really depends on the nature of the summons, the demon, the circumstances – “ Black Hat began, but Flug didn't have time for his elaborations.

“The short version,” he said, strained. “Please.”

“Well if you ask so nicely!” Black Hat replied, chuckling.

“ _Black Hat –_ “

“It's a pledge, sometimes a gift, usually a trade,” Black Hat continued, looking thoughtful. “Dementia here already dedicated her heart and soul, it just happens that lives tend to go along with those other two.”

“ _Please just –_ “ Flug gripped tighter in frustration, why couldn't he just get a straight answer. “So it's – what it's selling my soul? Is that it? Selling my soul to a demon?”

“I wouldn't phrase it that way, but I suppose that's the gist of it,” Black Hat actually shrugged. “More like dedicating your energy to support mine but – sure, let's go with the soul selling, sounds more sinister, more evil, I like it.”

“And it'll fix her?” Flug asked.

“Promise,” Black Hat replied, holding one hand up and using the other to make a cross over where a human's heart would be.

Flug felt how Dementia was getting weaker, and took a deep breath.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “How do I do this?”

Black Hat lit up, absolutely ecstatic.

“Just pledge your life, heart, and soul to me, simple!” Black Hat practically jumped in delight.

“Oh yeah,” Flug said, voice tittering, “real simple.”

“You – “ He glared, but Flug cut him off.

“Fine, I pledge my soul to you,” Flug said, pulling Dementia up and holding onto her tightly.

The candles in the room flickered ominously. Flug’s breath hitched.

“And?” Black Hat asked, leaning forward.

“And my life, and my heart,” Flug said, voice weak and faltering.

The candles flickered again, coming back even brighter than they had been before.

“Need anything else while you're at it?” Flug said, desperately trying to drive away the overwhelming sense of dread and horror washing over him.

“No, that's pretty good for me,” Black Hat replied, grinning maniacally. “Now, be a dear, and finish the pentagram, would you?”

Flug looked down at where Black Hat gestured. The inner ring was one complete line surrounding the pointed star, but the outer ring was broken. He wasn't sure if it had been smudged or left undone intentionally, but it was just an inch of bare ground between one end of the circle and the other.

Flug searched for a moment, before grasping onto a nearby chalk piece. He hesitated a moment, staring at the symbols on the ground.

“Flug,” Black Hat's voice was calm, but there was an edge behind it. “Finish it.”

He sounded almost nervous, but Flug couldn't fathom why. It wasn’t like the demon was the one selling his soul here.

He hovered for only a moment longer, one moment that felt like an eternity, before he reached down and connected the lines with one smooth motion.

Black Hat actually let out a bark of delighted laughter.

“Wonderful!”

All the candles in the room went out at once, and Flug gasped, reeling back, as he was left in darkness.

They all lit up by themselves again at once, revealing an empty pentagram. Black Hat was gone.

That would have drawn all of Flug's attention, had it not been for Dementia stirring suddenly in his grip. She drew in a deep, ragged breath, and sat upright.

“Dementia!” Flug shouted, pulling her into a hug.

“Wha – Flug? What are you doing...” she slowly reached up to hug him back. “What happened?”

He pulled back, looking at her and smiling, happy to see she was okay.

Then, he glared at her and shook her shoulders roughly.

“Did you _actually_ summon a _demon!_ What the hell Dementia! What the _actual_ hell!” He exclaimed, and she blinked, stunned.

“Did it work?” She asked, instead of any _reasonable_ reaction of course.

“Oh my god, I can't believe you,” he said, dropping his head down to her shoulder.

They both spoke at once

“No, really, did it – “

“At least he's gone – “

The two of them stopped talking as they heard a loud barking from out in the hallway.

It took a second for Flug to identify the sound as his dog, because 5.0.5. sounded downright vicious in a way he never had before. He was snarling and growling, and the two of them locked eyes, before hearing:

“Get down you mongrel! Off! _Off!_ Down!”

Flug shot to his feet, faster than the disoriented Dementia, who wobbled somewhat slower behind him. He dashed out into the hall and gaped.

5.0.5. was by the table, barking and snapping, hair raised, and trying to climb up onto the table that was just tall enough to thwart him.

There, standing _on top_ of the table and waving frantically at the dog, was Black Hat. He leaned back, just out of the dog's reach, and practically hissed back at him.

He looked up as Flug entered the hall, Dementia trailing shortly behind him.

“Call off your mutt!” He said, glaring at them.

“I – you – “ Flug spluttered, followed by some unintelligible sounds as he stared at the demon that he had just sold his soul to, hadn't he, standing on top of his dining table and shooing at his dog.

“Oh my g – that's him!” Dementia squealed in delight. That just left Flug at more of a loss for words. She rushed out, brushing past him, and towards the demon.

“Yes it's me! Now get your filthy animal to stop!” Black Hat spat.

“Oh! Fives, now, come on, stop!” Dementia tried.

Fives did not stop. Instead, Fives managed to get a mouthful of Black Hat's coat-tails and tear it off with a satisfying _’RIP.’_

“The _audacity!_ ” Black Hat shouted, he grabbed onto the other end of the torn piece of fabric and tugged.

Funnily enough, that seemed to shift 5.0.5's demeanor, as his play instinct kicked in and he began to tug back.

“You little! No! Bad! Release it!” Black Hat leaned back, pulling at the fabric and pitting his grip against the dog’s.

It was… comical.

Flug watched in a daze as his blue dog and the demon he'd pledged his life to played tug-of-war on his dining room table while his crazy demon-summoning roommate cheered loudly from the sideline.

And he still had an essay to write.

He pulled over a chair and sat down in a heap.

As if college hadn't been hard enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think in the comments, I'm always thirsty for feedback haha
> 
> And also as always my tumblr is jadetigress.tumblr.com, feel free to shoot me a message or request over there
> 
> And also also also as always big thanks to my beta reader, Niki, who you can find at abyssinalphantom.tumblr.com


	5. New Living Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Hat makes his first personal appearance and subsequently disregards all notions of subtlety, politeness, and personal space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing and editing this gosh-darn chapter after four months: I can't read suddenly. I don't know.
> 
> Warnings for: Liz can't update, Black Hat just got his body back and he Will Touch Everything, Texting, and roommate fights but don't worry they love each other
> 
> It's 3:50 am send help

The apartment was filled with a cacophony of noise as Flug just sat, staring through his fingers at the fever dream in front of him. Some small voice in the back of his head still wanted to rebel against whatever reality he'd found himself in and deny it, but instead he settled into somewhat of a trance.

An odd numbness was setting over him as the world revolved around him.

“I. Said. _Drop it,_ ” the demon, Black Hat, hissed with one last furious yank. The torn cloth, the other end of which was clamped in 5.0.5's locked jaw, made an ominous strained noise before severing in two.

5.0.5 ran away quickly, tail wagging enthusiastically as he retreated with his prize. Dementia giggled and clapped her hands.

Black Hat reeled back, set off balance by the sudden lack of resistance. He looked as though he was going to topple right off the table, but in a split second he was righted again, glaring at the cloth in his hand.

He scoffed and dropped the cloth carelessly to the ground.

“Idiotic mongrel,” he muttered, and reached for the edge of his long-coat.

He ran his fingers over the edge, down to where it was torn. However, instead of turning his glare back to the dog, faint red sparks trickled from his fingers down to the fabric.

Flug watched, entranced, as the cloth reformed in a stream of red light, traveling quickly from the tear down. For a second the missing fabric glowed brightly, hissing and popping, before the light was quickly snuffed out, leaving the coat whole and untarnished once more.

He may have been even more mesmerized by the light-show, if a sudden wave of dizziness hadn't rushed over him directly after. It felt like his whole body had fallen asleep, pins and needles sticking into every inch of his skin and white-noise filling his head.

Dementia teetered, reaching out sharply to brace herself against the wall with a gasp. The dog in front of her immediately tensed up, dropping his hard-won prize, whining and sniffing her in concern.

Flug wanted to help her, but he didn't feel quite capable of standing up. He reached out slightly, but stopped when he felt about to fall right off the chair.

“Well,” Black Hat said shortly, brushing down his lapels and straightening his tie with a sharp tug. “That's quite enough of that.”

Flug struggled to his feet as Dementia pushed off the wall and shook her head. The static faded quickly, but he still felt oddly cold. His body reacted physically and he began to shiver.

Black Hat grinned when he noticed all attention had shifted back to him. He squared his shoulders and crossed his hands behind his back.

“How nice,” he said, a sharp edge hidden just under his gleeful tone, “to finally meet the two of you. In person, that is.”

He swept his hand around to cover his heart, and gave them both a small nod, inclining forward ever so slightly in what would have been a polite bow had he not been perched above them. Instead, it felt ominous as he loomed above them, not unlike a cat staring down at the two little mice it had caught between its claws.

Flug didn't speak, he felt frozen to the spot, feet stuck to the ground.

Dementia on the other hand, had no problem speaking.

“I can't believe – “

Black Hat cut her off.

“Of course, now that I’m here, we'll be making some changes.”

He hopped down from the table in one lithe motion, landing neatly on his feet and immediately straightening to his full height.

Dementia said something else, but Flug's brain tuned it out. He was busy trying to process the demon striding confidently through his dining room as if he owned the place.

Well, he kind of did now, didn't he?

“Firstly,” he began, smiling maliciously and eye closing in smug triumph. He raised one finger in the air and waved it around cockily as he brushed by Flug.

However, when Black Hat's shoulder brushed up against the man, it felt like shards of ice impaled Flug's arm. His breath caught in his throat. It felt like he was breathing frigid air, lungs freezing up and unable to function and provide the oxygen he urgently needed.

Black Hat paused mid-sentence, eye opening suddenly as he turned to look at the man. A contemplative look passed over his face as he watched Flug’s reaction closely.

Flug lurched to the side. He felt like he was going to pass out.

“Oh,” Black Hat said, reaching out and grabbing onto Flug's shoulder to steady him. “Don't do that.”

Flug wanted to protest and step back, but suddenly the demon was gripping his chin firmly with his other hand. He forced Flug to meet his gaze, staring intently into his eyes. His hand was so cold, despite the fabric covering it, and Flug tried to pull back, but he found that his legs wouldn’t respond to the signals his brain was desperately sending them.

“Oh don't be such a martyr,” Black Hat tisked, eyes narrowing a shade in annoyance and tightening his harsh grip. Flug felt the tips of his claw-like fingers dig into his cheeks slightly.

But Black Hat's pursed expression shifted, mischievous smirk breaking out once again. Flug reached up to try and push at his chest, but hesitated as the icy feeling that had encompassed his body slowly thawed. The frigid touch warmed, and the numb feeling drained out of him.

He didn't realize how tense he'd been, muscles locked into place, until suddenly he relaxed. He found himself leaning forward just a bit, arms falling to his side.

“There you go,” Black Hat hummed. “Don't be so delicate from now on, would you?”

Flug blinked owlishly as he focused back in on reality. Black Hat grinned and finally removed his grip, but not before giving him a couple quick pats on the cheek condescendingly. By that time, his hand felt _hot_ , almost burning as it brushed his cheek.

Flug finally managed to get a hold of himself and backpedal to regain his personal space. He kept going until his back hit the nearby wall, but even after his retreat he felt like he could still feel the handprint on his face.

Black Hat laughed loudly at the wide-eyed look Flug was giving him, halfway between confusion and panic, before turning away and walking through the dining room to the hallway.

“Ugh,” Dementia muttered from the other side of the room, causing Flug's attention to snap over to her. She was rubbing at her forehead, and Flug noticed her shiver almost imperceptive.

“Are you okay?” He asked, walking over to her in concern.

“Yeah I'm – “

Both of them stumbled as sparks lit up the hallway. 5.0.5 yipped, running after Black Hat.

“Sorry,” Black Hat threw over his shoulder, sounding not at all sorry. He glanced at them for less than a second before his attention shifted back.

His boots clicked on the floor as he slowly made his way through the hallway. After a moment, he reached out one hand to brush along the wall. A small grin surfaced on his face, different from his previous, theatric expressions. It was personal, and a genuine ecstatic expression overtook him as he dragged his fingers across the plaster. He reveled in the faint red lines that trailed behind each digit, emblazoning the wall before fading as he continued forward.

Flug and Dementia watched as he reached the front door, pausing slightly and tilting his head. He brought his hand to the door, trailing it along the surface. It was oddly delicate and reverential, the way his fingers caressed it longingly.

Then the moment broke, and he dug his sudden claws into its surface, tracing out an invisible symbol. Sparks flew again, tracing the path Black Hat carved on its surface, and the hallway was illuminated in a flash.

Flug watched, bewitched, as the ominous red light filtered over him.

Dementia looked like she was about to faint. But like not in a bad way. In like a Dementia way.

5.0.5 had absconded from the scene.

Black Hat finished the _whatever it was_ that he had been intricately drawing out and stepped back. He placed a hand on either hip and his shoulders raised ever so slightly. Flug would have thought he was admiring his work, if not for the way his right foot tapped impatiently against the ground, drawing his attention with its insistent _click, click, click._

Black Hat tilted his head and another breath passed. _Click, click, click._

Suddenly, he whirled around, turning his back to the profoundly glaring sigil literally burned into the door. From what Flug could see, it seemed vaguely familiar, pulling the strings weakly in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite place why. The light-show lit Black Hat from behind, casting his shadow out and down the hall towards the two humans.

He stood there for a moment, looking at the two of them with intensity. His foot tapped again, slower this time, before he apparently came to a decision and began walking back towards them. As soon as he took the first step away, the sigil flickered out unceremoniously, like a snuffed out candle.

“Firstly,” Black Hat said, immediately commanding the room once more. “I am in charge now.”

It took a moment for Flug to realize he was picking up where he left off, brushing off the display thoughtlessly. He scowled at the belated response from the two of them.

“In charge? Are we like, your minions now?” Dementia spoke up first. Flug was grateful that she sounded somewhat offended. For _once._

“And what did you expect?” Black Hat asked, leveling his look on her. He gave her a bored expression, but underneath he radiated a tense energy. Flug felt immediately threatened, but Dementia, apparently, amazingly, did not.

“But the book said – “ Dementia started, frowning.

“Don't believe everything you read, silly girl,” Black Hat cut in, waving off her words and dismissing her. “Who – how did you put it,” his gaze shifted to Flug for a moment, shooting him a conspiratorial smirk, “'sold their soul,' again? I don't believe it was _me_.”

The first thing Flug's brain managed to conjure up to expel out of his idiot mouth since the incident began was of course –

“Do you even have a soul?”

And of course, this was apparently the absolutely wrong thing to say, as Black Hat's attention snapped to him and his one visible eye narrowed in anger.

“I do,” he said. Flug held up his hands defensively, shying away from the other’s fury, before Black Hat suddenly grinned and broke out laughing. “In fact, I have two!”

Flug and Dementia stood deathly still as the demon laughed. When he was done and his laughter subsided, he looked them both up and down, before turning his back to them and shrugged.

“Oh come on, that was funny. I thought you two loved jokes!” He said, shoulders bouncing slightly with another chuckle.

Dementia let out a half-hearted laugh, eyes flickering over to Flug in concern.

Flug tried to convey, _Oh we will talk about this later,_ as fiercely as he could in his expression. She grinned nervously at him and averted her gaze.

“I guess my sense of humor might be outdated,” Black Hat said. He reached his arms over his head, and stretched nonchalantly. Flug watched the demon's shoulders shift under his coat. He sighed contently before dropping his arms and shrugging.

“Oh well.” He was unbothered by the decidedly one-sided conversation he was having with these humans. He breathed in to continue on, before he paused, head tilting to the side.

“What's this?” Black Hat asked, bending down to scoop something off the floor.

He turned back around, brandishing whatever he'd picked up awfully close to Flug's face. The man backed up a step – partially in anxiety, partially to get his eyes to actually focus on the object.

Flug felt a shocked laugh leave him, high pitched and sharp, as he recognized the rose he'd picked earlier in the night. It's white petals caught the dim light from the dining room, taking on a wan, ghostly hue.

After a moment, Flug realized Black Hat was actually expecting a response.

“I got it earlier. In the park,” Flug replied numbly. “For…” he trailed off, considering how fast his worldview had shifted in this last hour.

Black Hat didn’t wait for him to finish his thought though.

“How sickeningly adorable,” Black Hat said, giving him look Flug couldn't quite pin. It was a mix of amusement and condescension, and it made Flug bristle defensively, flushing.

Flug watched as red light flickered from Black Hat's grip, coursing up the flower's stem rapidly. He felt a prickling on the back of his neck, giving him goosebumps. When the light reached the blossom, the white petals on the flower were engulfed and in a flash, and the pallid color was transformed into a deep maroon, verging on black.

Black Hat tucked the flower into his breast pocket. It complemented his outfit nicely.

Because that's what Flug was noticing right now.

“I think…” Black Hat sighed. His body language suddenly shifted, and he seemed almost tired. Flug wasn't sure if he was talking to them or himself, until he reached forward. He grabbed his shoulder, other hand resting on Dementia's shoulder, pulling the two of them towards him.

He felt that cold feeling again as Black Hat made contact, but this time it was fleeting, flickering down his spine and causing him to shiver for just a moment before dissipating.

Black Hat breathed in deeply, before sighing again.

“I need to think,” he said.

He released the two of them suddenly and pushed between them, re-entering the core of the house.

“I’ll give you some time to get settled into the new ‘living conditions,’” he said, giving them one last look and grinning at them. “You two better behave now.”

With that, he waved a hand. However, instead of the show of conspicuous sparks that Flug expected, Black Hat simply vanished.

 

* * *

 

 

Flug stared at the empty space, wheels in his brain slowly chugging back into action. Now that the demon had left, he felt lighter, released from the heaviness blanketing his shoulders he hadn't even noticed had been there.

5.0.5 returned from wherever he'd lurked away too, padding up to Flug, panting. He shoved his nose against Flug's thigh, and he gave the dog a pat automatically.

He turned to Dementia, she was still staring at the empty space in front of them in a trance.

“Dementia,” he said, bringing her attention to him.

She spun to look at him, and her blank expression burst as she filled with energy. Her eyes lit up in a way that only managed to make Flug annoyed.

“I don't even know what to say!” She said, reaching up to run her hands through her hair, trying to burn off the excess fidgety energy that was unable to be contained in her small body.

“Okay, how about you start with 'sorry,'” Flug replied, stiff.

Dementia blinked, expression falling into puzzlement, then bashfulness.

“Oh, right, sorry about getting you involved, but like – “

“No, no 'but,'” Flug shot back. He gave her a look of disbelief. “There's no 'buts' to this situation Dementia!”

“I – “ She hesitated, wringing her hands in front of her and looking genuinely at a loss.

“I just – “ Flug sighed and rubbed at his head, feeling a headache coming on. “I just really can't believe this Dementia, what were you thinking? How could you _do this?_ ”

“It was just supposed to be simple,” she said, face furrowing, “I don't know what... like what happened?”

“What _happened?_ ” Flug asked, incredulously. “Dementia you were going into a coma or – or _dying_ or something! And you – “ He was at a loss, clenching and unclenching his fists in the air in front of him, searching. “I can't believe this!”

His hands settled on clench and he felt his muscles bundling into balls.

“That's not – that shouldn't have happened! That’s not what the book said,” she said, voice raising in pitch. She was obviously distressed as she tried to defend herself. “What did Black Hat say to you?”

“ _'Black Hat'!_ ” Flug cried incredulously, still in shock. “Did you think that thing was friendly something? No, actually, how long were you planning this? Were you talking to him the whole time? Was this _your_ idea?”

“What did he say?” She asked again, leaning forward and gesturing desperately. “I can't remember what happened.”

She grimaced as the words left her mouth, before hunching her shoulders in and crossing her arms.

“You're avoiding the question _again_ , but fine,” Flug said, glaring. “He said if I didn't 'make a pact' with him you would _die_ Dementia. You'd be _dead_ because of this – _stupid_ – “

He lost his coherence again and gave up. He rubbed harshly at his face in frustration, almost missing the cautious smile she gave him.

“I mean, now I know you'd take a bullet for me, huh?” She tried, hoping that cracking a joke would lighten the room.

“No Dementia! That's not the point!” He shouted, getting more aggravated in each moment. “You don't get it do you?”

“I don't – “ Her face furrowed. “I mean you wouldn't let me actually – “

“You shouldn't have _put me_ in that position in the first place!” He yelled.

“Well I didn't know that would happen!” She shot back. Apparently she was done trying to defuse the situation, because she shot him a glare and tensed for a fight.

“Even if you didn't, you still thought that what, _summoning a demon_ was a good, safe idea?” He said.

“Why does it matter what I thought! It didn't involve you!” She cried, throwing her arms wide.

5.0.5 whined, obviously distressed. Flug didn't really notice, too caught up in his emotions. Dementia, however, gave the dog a look and immediately felt guilty.

“I'm done,” she spat, shrugging and turning to stalk to her room.

“No! You can't just do that!” Flug replied, stepping forward to cut her off. She glared at him up between her lashes.

“You can't just deal with this like that, like you do _everything else._ This is serious Dementia, this is real!” He said.

She just shoved at his chest, forcing him to take a step back.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I thought all my dumb ghost shit _wasn't_ real,” she replied, raising her eyebrows and giving him a saccharine smile. “So it's _not_ serious and it _doesn't_ matter.”

She tried to push past him again.

“That's not funny!” Flug said through gritted teeth.

“Whatever, I'm done,” she said again.

He stood there, seething. She gave him an expectant look, daring him to drag her back in. Flug closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down. Fine.

“Okay, I'm done too,” he said, stalking to his room.

Dementia blinked, surprised.

“Really?” She asked. Contradicting her original intention to return to her room, she trailed after him and peaked in behind him as he made a loud commotion in his room.

He was grabbing clothes and shoving them into his backpack.

“What are you doing?” She asked, shifting instantaneously from anger to concern.

“I'm not staying here,” he said, still simmering in his anger. “Not tonight.”

Her eyes widened and she tried to reach out for him, but he brushed past her and headed for the door.

“Flug, wait. Do you even know where you're going? Do you have a place to stay?” She tried, wringing her hands.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

“Flug.”

“Keep an eye on Fives.”

With that, he slammed the door behind him and stomped down the street.

 

* * *

 

Flug actually did not have a place in mind to stay. In fact, he had been trudging down the street, stewing in his frustration, for several blocks before he stopped to actually think his decision through.

He checked his watch, noting that it was already past 3:00am.

He grimaced and pulled out his phone, scanning through his contacts.

He selected one, his lab partner for the past two semesters, and carefully crafted a text message. The last hour had rattled his brain so badly, he almost forgot to exclude “demon” and “souls” from the conversation, lest the guy decide he needed a new scientific partner.

3:12 a.m.

 **Me:** Hey, are you still awake?

 **Isaac:** no

 **Isaac:** why

 **Me:** I'm really sorry for texting so late and maybe waking you up.

 **Isaac** : It's fine

 **Isaac:** You ok?

 **Me:** Actually not really.

 **Isaac:** Oh shit

 **Isaac:** You safe???

 **Isaac** : Please tell me you didn’t get mugged or something

 **Me:** No! I just need a favor.

 **Isaac:**?

 **Me:** That probably sounded really bad, I mean I just need a place

to stay and I was wondering if I could crash at your place?

 **Isaac:** Oh np

 **Isaac:** damn thought you got arrested or smthn there

 **Isaac:** you know I live at the dorms right?

 **Me:** Yeah

 

Flug pocketed his phone and switched the path of his feet to head towards college. It wasn't far away at all, though it definitely felt like a longer journey without his bike and by himself. Not to mention it was three in the morning and he was absolutely exhausted.

He also felt somewhat nauseous. He immediately wanted to blame it on his new 'living condition,' but honestly it might have just been the usual sick anxious feeling.

His phone buzzed again.

 

3:15 a.m.

 **Isaac:** cool

 **Isaac:** just text me when u get here then

 **Me:** Okay

 **Isaac:** mind if I ask what's up?

 **Isaac:** it's chill if you don't want to talk bout it tho

 **Me:** You know Dementia right?

 **Isaac:** yeah

 **Me:** Basically I live with her, and we got into a big fight is all.

 **Me:** I didn't want to stay there.

 **Isaac:** oh yeh I knew that

 **Isaac** : and that sucks dude

 **Isaac:** you guys okay tho?

 **Isaac:** sorry dumb question

 **Me:** I don't know.

 **Isaac:** Yikes

 **Isaac:** Sorry, I know you two are close

 **Isaac:** Hope you can patch up and shit

 **Me:** Thanks

 **Isaac:** No problem dude

 

The rest of the walk passed uneventfully. The moon was still hanging full in the sky, shining light over his shoulder and brightening the world with its ghastly luminescence. He even passed by the park again, but couldn't bring himself to spare it even a passing glance.

Before long, he was back on campus.

He realized that he'd probably be going straight to campus from Isaac's in the morning. He tried to remember if he'd had the right books in his backpack before he'd stormed out.

He was pretty sure he had. Which meant he probably hadn't.

It took only another minute before he was lingering outside the east dorms. His ID wouldn't get him in the building anymore, once he'd moved out he'd been removed from the dorm's system.

He pulled out his phone

 

3:15 a.m.

 **Isaac:** Be safe!

 

3:20 a.m.

 **Me:** I'm here

 **Isaac:** Cool I'll be down is a sec

 

He shoved the phone back in his pocket, and idled outside for a minute.

The door opened, causing him to jump. Not for any particular reason, it shouldn't have startled him, but he was so wound up that he was ready to burst.

And he still felt dizzy.

“Hey Flug,” a voice said. Said voice was, of course, Isaac, lab partner extraordinaire.

Flug squinted, eyes adjusting to the light coming out of the doorway.

Isaac was dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt, and was squinting right back at him, short-cropped hair sticking up in all directions.

Though while Flug's squint faded as his eyes adjusted, Isaac's remained in that blearily sleepy way.

“C'mon in,” he mumbled, words jumbling. He waved and turned to walk into the dorms.

Flug trailed in after him. He just kind of dazedly went through the process of checking-in, having to be asked twice to hand over his ID before the request clicked in his brain. He ignored the carefully-blank, specifically-not-judgemental look of the security guard, before the two headed to the stairwell.

“Uhh,” Isaac muttered, squinting and making a face, made sluggish by his tiredness. “My roommate is staying over at his girlfriend's, so I texted him and he said you could steal his bed.”

“Oh,” Flug replied dully. He hadn't even thought of that. “Thanks.”

“No problem, dude,” he said.

They approached his room, and he opened the door.

“Welcome to my, uhh, castle or something,” he said, punctuating the sentence with a yawn.

“Thanks again,” Flug said but Isaac gestured dismissively.

“Seriously dude, no problem, don't sweat it I get it,” he said.

Flug followed him into the messy room. He'd been there before to work on projects, so he recognized Isaac's side and Isaac's specific brand of scientific clutter. Even if he didn't, the lab coat slung over the school-issued wooden wardrobe gave it away.

“I,” he yawned, “made the bed and stuff. And like that's a clean blanket. Not that Christain's not clean, but he is a business major.”

Flug laughed slightly. He looked at the other bed, which was, as described, made with an extra blanket lying on top.

“Do you like, want to talk or anything?” Isaac asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his mesh shorts.

“Not really,” Flug muttered. “I just feel terrible.”

Mentally and physically.

“Yeah, course, course,” Isaac replied, nodding maybe a few too many times. “Sorry about your girl.”

“Oh we're not like – “ Flug started.

“Eh, doesn't matter,” he shrugged, hands still in his pockets, and yawned again. “Still sorry 'bout your friend-that-is-a-girl.”

“Thanks,” Flug replied, shrugging along with him.

“I don't know her really well,” he started, reaching up to scratch absently at the side of his face, “but like, from what I know, I know she can get kinda wild. You know?”

He squinted in confusion at his own words. Flug smiled slightly.

“You know what, never mind. I'm gonna stop trying to help. She's cool, you're cool, I hope you two are cool. Cool?”

“If you say cool one more time I'm telling the Professor Peterson you were the one who poured the acid down the drain,” Flug replied, heading over to the bed.

“ _Dude,_ ” Isaac said. The look of genuine betrayal on his face made Flug laugh. “You _promised_.”

Flug dropped his bag onto the floor, relieved as the weight left his shoulders. He stood there for a moment, suddenly feeling a little guilty about his decision to storm out on Dementia. He debated going back, but the idea of entering that house again made him feel uneasy, so instead he sat down on the bed and let his head drop into his hands. He had a terrible migraine, it was late, and he still had work to do.

“You good then?” Isaac asked, falling onto his own bed.

“Yeah, thanks again,” Flug mumbled into his hands.

“I have a ten a.m. in Main,” Isaac mumbled into his pillow, already falling back asleep. “You can stay as long as you need but I gotta be out by nine-thirty.”

“I have a ten o'clock class too,” Flug replied, kicking off his shoes and lying back on the bed, settling in on top of the sheets and under the extra blanket. “Third floor.”

“Oh sweet, cool,” Isaac said. “Night then.”

Not a second later, Isaac had immediately passed out, right before Flug could call him out on his last ‘cool.’ Flug, however, was left staring at the ceiling of the unfamiliar room. The afterimage of flashing sparks were burned to the inside of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, lingering like a garish overexposure.

After what could have been five minutes or what could have been an hour, Flug gave in and checked his phone, spotting several missed calls and ignored messages from his roommate.

He ignored most of them, exhaustion hitting him all at once. His tired eyes barely managed to scan over the barrage of words, before he sighed and typed out a quick message.

 

3:46 a.m.

 **Me:** I'm fine and staying at a friend's

 **Me:** We'll talk tomorrow, just please stay safe

and don't do anything else rash, okay?

 **Dem:** Okay. Text me tomorrow morning please?

 **Dem:** Goodnight

 **Dem:** I love you

 **Me:** Goodnight Dem

 

He clicked off the display of his phone, turning over to try and sleep.

It took him one whole minute to click it back on.

 

3:47 a.m.

 **Me:** Love you too

 

He still wasn't sure what was happening, or the implications of everything. He wasn't sure what exactly this entity was, or what power it (he) had over them now. He didn't know if he was wrapped up in something terrible now, if his life was now irreversibly changed and beyond his control.

What he did know however, was that he was great at dealing with immense, life-changing choices. He'd had to pick a college and go thousands of dollars into debt for the rest of his (now presumably shortened) life, and that was pretty terrifying too, wasn't it?

So he dealt with this the same way he did with that– the same way that allowed him to get sleep without staying up the whole night wracked up in an anxiety attack about the future– he promptly compartmentalized it to the back of his mind, and neatly boxed “Actual Demon” next to “Student Loans,” “Midterm Review,” and “That Engineering Competition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway it's been like four months, how are your guy's lives going?? :D
> 
> My beta reader is abyssinalphantom.tumblr.com and she is a saint
> 
> I'm jadetigress.tumblr.com or something, let me know what you think in the comments below and there! They're all highly appreciated!


	6. Cold Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug gets sick, then he gets unsick, then he gets sick again. This may turn into an inconvenient pattern. Oh, and the demon is back. This may or may not be directly correlated.  
> Maybe now would be the optimal time to call an exorcist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, producing Villainous content? More likely than you may think!
> 
> This chapter is a little short (?) but I'm getting back into the roll of writing these guys after a while so here it is!
> 
> Spoilers without context™: Flug sasses the demon that literally owns his soul and Black Hat messes with the heating/cooling system with blatant disregard for human safety

 

By the time Flug woke up in the morning, he'd gotten an estimated four hours of sleep _at most_. He opened his eyes to the blaring of his phone alarm. He groaned, turning over and shoving his face back into his pillow.

The smell of Axe absolutely plastered over the pillow confused him, he scrunched up his nose and groaned again. He didn't use that body spray, why did his pillow smell like it?

“You getting up?” A voice asked. He would have assumed it was Dementia peeking in to make sure he woke up to walk to class with her, except for the fact it was obviously not Dementia and was most certainly a dude.

He turned his head, squinting at the person standing over on the other side of the room. The _dorm_ room. Oh right.

Issac was in the process of shoving a variety of books and crumpled up pieces of paper into his backpack. His hair was wet, and actually combed now, and he'd gotten dressed in a completely different t-shirt and gym shorts- keeping it classy.

“No,” Flug muttered, shoving his face back into the pillow. He tried to breathe shallowly so the smell of body spray didn't overwhelm him.

His whole body ached, muscles screaming as though he'd run a marathon last night. Or perhaps a triathlon was more accurate, because his arms, sides, and even his neck felt like shit every time he shifted any single muscle.

Isaac, worst “bro” ever, laughed at Flug's pain.

“Your choice dude, but it's almost time for class, just so you know,” he replied, slinging his backpack over his shoulders.

Flug just groaned loudly again, pushing himself up into a sitting position, but keeping the blanket wrapped firmly around his body as he shivered.

He sniffled, squinting blearily at the man across the room.

“What time is it?” He asked, rubbing at his eyes.

“Almost nine-fifty,” Isaac replied, giving Flug a look. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Flug replied, before immediately sneezing. He made a disgruntled look, frowning and wrapping the blanket closer around him. “Why do you say that?”

The way his voice sounded sore and congested didn't help his case. Isaac just raised an eyebrow, point proven.

“I have some cold medicine somewhere,” he murmured, turning around and tossing things around on his desk before grunting and trying to search his drawers instead.

“I'm not sick,” Flug replied, but his eyes were already drooping again and his exhausted body begged to differ.

“Ah-hah!” Isaac proclaimed loudly, pulling out a neon-orange bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk. “Now when does this expire,” he said quietly, squinting at the label.

“I'm fine, seriously,” Flug rasped. He tried to get off the bed and stand up, but as soon as his body was upright, he swayed dangerously to the side before plopping back down on the bed.

“Oh, a year ago!” Isaac said cheerily. Flug groaned, and watched as Isaac lifted the bottle in one hand, eyeing up the trash can by the door.

“Don't,” Flug muttered, before the other boy shouted.

“Kobe!” He yelled, throwing the bottle at full speed across the room.

Flug sighed in relief when the bottle actually hit its mark and didn't splatter across the wall.

“Welp, can't help my dude,” Isaac shrugged, shifting his shoulders and hiking up his backpack. “You gonna stay here, or...?”

“No, I gotta go to class,” Flug replied, before sneezing again.

“You sneeze like a kitten,” Isaac replied, smiling at him.

“You're awful, thanks.” Flug scowled, standing up again and beginning to gather up his stuff.

“That's good though, cuz I'm pretty sure I have to check you out anyway,” Isaac replied, leaning by the door and waiting as Flug got ready. “How'd you get sick though, you sounded fine last night.”

“I don't know,” Flug rasped, “I mean, I was outside in the cold last night for a long time.”

Isaac hummed. “Yeah it's getting colder. It's supposed to snow next week actually.”

Flug just groaned again, pulling on his backpack.

“Do you have a coat?” Isaac asked, raising an eyebrow at Flug, who looked downright miserable, hair barely kept under control, bags under his eyes, and wearing the same rumpled clothing as the day before.

“No,” he replied, squinting from behind his thick glasses.

“Here,” Flug flinched as a sweatshirt was flung unceremoniously in his direction. “Or else you might just fall over out there bro, you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Flug replied, taking off his backpack to pull on the sweatshirt.

“It's cool dude, you're heading to main too, right?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Let's get this over with.”

 

* * *

 

It was useless, he couldn't focus on class. His brain was mush, his body was starting to shake– from the cold or from stress he didn't know– and his eyelids started to droop every time he allowed them to stray from the complex equation on the board. His lack of sleep from the previous night was really hitting him, and he was ready to collapse. For the rest of the class, he struggled desperately to stay awake, bouncing one leg up and down rapidly and digging his fingernails into his palms.

His mind snapped back into focus at the words, “See you next week.” He jumped to his feet, shoving his books into his backpack and high-tailing it out of the classroom.

After this class, he typically met up with Dementia for lunch. However, today he found himself holing up in a corner of the school library, popping open his laptop and staring blankly at the screen.

That application was due today, so he grit his teeth and forced himself to numbly type out the stale words. There were only a couple questions left, but he had no motivation to give any real effort. For the next ten minutes, he let his stream of consciousness out into the small, nondescript boxes on the website, just barely holding himself back from pouring all his frustration out.

Once it was done, he barely gave the thing a once-over, not even bothering to proofread it. He'd done most of it last night anyway, and if what he'd just typed was shit, then only that one part would be shit. Either way, he simply didn't care anymore, so he just punched the _Submit_ button before slamming the lid of his laptop down sharply.

He was supposed to work on the physical part of his project too, his invention, but he'd left it at home so there really wasn't any use focusing on that.

So without any further distractions or excuses, he was forced to contemplate actually going home for the day, but he was hesitant to just walk back into that situation. He rested his chin in his hands, leaning against the library desk, as he thought.

He almost fell asleep again right there, aching muscles urging him to just lay his head down on the table and stop moving for a little bit. He blinked his eyes rapidly, shaking his head and straightening his posture.

Time to put those “problem solving skills” he put on every application to work.

If he was going to living with a demon, possibly having to argue or barter with a demon, he should probably do some research on what exactly that thing _was_ , shouldn't he?

He popped his laptop back open, quickly closing out of his previous tab and opening a new one, ignoring the ten or eleven other tabs he still had open on the side for no discernible reason other than he just forgot to close them.

But then he reached a roadblock, of course. Because you couldn't exactly just Google “demons,” could you?

...could you?

Well, Dementia had apparently bought an occult book, which must have been more or less accurate seeing as she had, in fact, _successfully summoned a demon._

He started by throwing together search terms to see what he got. “Black Hat” would obviously just get him pictures of _black hats_ , duh, so he tried variations. “Demon Black Hat,” “Occult Black Hat,” “Evil Spirit Black Hat,” “Demon in Ravencross,” “History of Demons Around Ravencross.”

None gave him any real results, though he noticed as soon as he began incorporating the name of the town into his searches, there were several old stories of witch hunts and occult rituals in the history of the town. Nowadays though, there were just a couple “ghost tour” services, and an “occult” store on the edge of town. That seemed interesting, it was probably nonsense, but in retrospect, it was probably were Dementia had been getting all her odd new things.

Flug pulled out his phone and glanced at his notifications.

 

10:07 am

 **Dem:** morning Flug

 

12:46 pm

 **Dem:** are you coming home today?

 

1:15 pm

 **Dem:** are you still not talking to me?

 

Flug sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He was still mad at Dementia, but leaving her home alone with whatever had invaded their house probably wasn't the smartest idea. Plus she was still his best friend, even if she had never _really_ apologized last night for what she did.

 

2:09 pm

Yeah, I'm coming home soon.

 **Dem:** I'm glad!! I was super worried

 **Dem:** I'm really sorry I was kind of a bitch last night

 

Well he guessed that was a start.

 

We can talk more when I get home.

 **Dem:** Okay

 

After a second of thought, he added:

 

Is it there now?

 **Dem:** black hat? no

 **Dem:** I don't know where he went :< It's weird

Okay.

 

Hopefully it stayed that way, but he highly doubted it.

He sneezed again, frowning and pulling the sweatshirt closer around him. He gave his laptop one last glance, memorizing the address of the “occult shop,” before he reached out and closed the machine, tucking it into his backpack and getting ready to leave.

He made a mental note to check out that place soon, but for now he was starving and sick, and he could already picture the plate of food and non-expired cold medicine waiting for him at home.

 

* * *

 

The walk home was uneventful, though as soon as Flug stepped outside he broke into a coughing fit. He blamed it on the high pollen level or something similar, but his congested lungs settled down as he began to trudge back through town to the apartment.

Once he reached home, he noticed Dementia had apparently cleaned off the doorway, the sigil she'd drawn before conspicuously missing. The proverbial light bulb went off above Flug's head, as he realized that must have been where he recognized the demon's drawing from- because it probably _was_ his sigil or some bullshit like that.

He sighed, pulling out his keys and unlocking the door, sniffling as he did.

The first thing that struck him as he entered was an immediate sense of warmth, that wonderful feeling of coming into a cozy house after the long, chilly trek from the campus. He smiled slightly, forgetting his concerns momentarily.

The second thing that struck him, quite literally, was his dog. As soon as he closed the door behind him, 505 pelted into his legs, knocking him off balance. He laughed, pressing his back against the inside of the door and sliding to the ground, arms open to greet the ecstatic canine.

For a good moment, he giggled uncontrollably, feeling gleeful as the giant puppy jumped into his arms and wiggled furiously.

“I missed you too boy,” he replied, snorting, rubbing the dog's fur up and down all over.

“Uh, Flug!” Dementia called, causing him to look up, stupid grin stuck on his face.

She came into view of the main hall, socks sliding on the floor until she came to a halt by throwing out an arm to catch herself on the wall. Flug was about to say something, before he noticed her obviously strained smile and the way she was trying to casually lean on the wall, crossing one leg over the other and puffing out her chest.

“Before you say anything-” she tried to say all in a rush.

“Flug! How nice of you to join us again,” a second voice drawled behind her.

Dementia visibly tensed, smile growing wider and showing off more of her teeth as she gave Flug a distressed look.

Flug's expression became carefully neutral, eyes narrowing. But it was a little difficult when 505 was still attempting to jump into his lap.

“Okay, I swear, he was not here when I texted you,” she replied, laughing nervously.

Black Hat finally came into view behind Dementia, strolling to the entrance way with his arms crossed behind his back. Dementia, who had clearly been trying to block the view of the kitchen with her body, finally shuffled out of the way, giving Black Hat a wide smile.

“I was wondering where you'd run off to,” Black Hat said, tilting his head and giving Flug a sinister smile.

Flug froze upon seeing the demon. Sure, he'd come to the realization that this was indeed a real thing that was happening to him, but some part of him had still hoped that once he came home the whole thing would just turn out to be an elaborate prank on Dementia's part, or a really bad dream.

When Flug didn't answer, Black Hat didn't seem bothered, he simply leaned against the nearby wall and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at the man.

“So...” Dementia said, crossing her arms behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Uh...”

Flug said nothing, just stood up, crossing the hallway between the two, who both followed him with their gaze, and headed further into the house. He bristled as he passed the two of them, feeling the hair raise on the back of his neck, but he didn't stop his path to the kitchen.

Black Hat, again, seemed unbothered. In fact, he didn't even move from his positioning. If anything, his grin widened, showing off all of his pointed teeth.

“Flug, hey, Flug,” Dementia said, following him into the kitchen. “I don't know what-”

“I'm going to get something to eat, and then I am going to down some cough medicine and take a nap,” he said, not bothering to acknowledge her other than that. “Then I will try and deal with this.”

“Oh, okay?” Dementia replied, stopping in her tracks and looking nervously back between Flug and the literal demon in the room.

Black Hat still wasn't saying anything, just watching Flug with a look of interest on his face. Flug did not like this, so he chose instead to ignore it at the moment, much like the rest of his problems.

He went into the kitchen, opening the fridge and looking through it, searching desperately for something edible that didn't need a lot of preparation and he could take back into his room.

“You're out of ice cream,” a voice said directly behind him. It took all the willpower Flug had not to scream. As it was, he bristled, turning around sharply to glare at the demon who was now sitting nonchalantly at the kitchen table. He hadn't heard the sound of his shoes on the floor, and he wondered briefly if he could teleport or some nonsense like that.

“Well, when you pay rent, I'll go get you some ice cream,” Flug replied.

Had he been less sleep deprived, he may have questioned the intelligence of sassing the demon that owned his soul. But he was not less sleep deprived, so he glared at the spirit before turning back to glare at the fridge.

Luckily, Black Hat seemed to find this hilarious. His laugh filled the room, hurting Flug's ears and sounding like some sort of dying animal.

“Well you seem to have recovered your bravado, hmm?” He said after he was done making the awful noise. Flug refused to turn around. Flug had finally located the leftovers from a couple days ago that were _probably_ still good, so he snagged those before turning to leave the kitchen.

He didn't acknowledge the demon sitting at his kitchen table. Instead he ducked into his room, throwing down the food on his desk before he walked back out and into the bathroom. He opened the cabinet behind the mirror, squinting and searching for the cold medicine he knew was stored there.

He frowned, mind buffering, when he failed to locate it.

“Looking for something?”

Flug jumped again, turning to glare at the demon leaning casually against the doorway. His voice was dripping with smugness, and as Flug watched, he lazily tossed the bright orange bottle up into the air, before catching it and giving it a shake, sloshing the viscous liquid inside.

“Give me that,” Flug said, but it didn't have the strength he wanted it to. Instead, his voice just sounded tired.

“Why?” Black Hat replied, gaze scanning over the bottle as he tilted his head. He turned the bottle over in his gloved hand, pursing his lips as he looked it over.

“Because I need it,” Flug snapped, placing his hands on his hips.

“Do you really?” Black Hat replied, looking back up to Flug's face and grinning mischievously. He was still leaning casually on the doorway, tilting his head as he watched Flug's expression shift from annoyed to aggravated.

“Yes!” He said, walking towards the demon and trying to grab it.

“Why?” Black Hat replied, watching as Flug walked closer.

“Because I'm sick!” He snapped again.

Flug was surprised when he was able to snatch the bottle from the demon's hand without any trouble. He'd half expected the other to hold it high above his head or back away or something, but instead he handed it over to the man. As their hands brushed, Flug felt that unnerving feeling again, and he quickly retracted his arm, giving Black Hat an accusing look as he clutched the bottle to his chest.

Black Hat laughed, crossing his arms and watching Flug.

“Are you?” He asked, eye glinting in some sort of sick amusement.

“Yes, I am,” Flug sniffed, turning to the sink to pour out a proportion of the cold medicine.

“Really?” Black Hat asked. Flug almost threw the bottle at him right then and there, bristling at the endless questions.

“Yeah! Why the hell do you keep asking?” He said, turning to glare at the demon.

Black Hat simply raised an eyebrow and said nothing. It made Flug hesitate, medicine halfway to his lips.

Seeing Flug's unsure expression and the way he hesitated, Black Hat's smile widened. He shrugged, turning his gaze away from Flug and casually looking around the bathroom, not saying anything.

Now that he was thinking about it, Flug realized belatedly that he hadn't coughed since he had left campus, and he hadn't sneezed since he entered the house. Actually, his muscles didn't even feel sore anymore, nor did his head hurt.

He stood there perfectly still for another moment. Black Hat's gaze leveled back on him. Apparently the look of his face must have been downright _hilarious,_ because Black Hat's somewhat neutral expression morphed into one of utter amusement as his eye opened wider and he barked out one short laugh.

“I...” Flug frowned.

“Yes?” Black Hat egged, snorting and watching Flug intently.

Flug snapped all at once, expression turning to a scowl as he pegged the cup of medicine at the other. He'd _hoped_ to spill the offending substance all over the demon, but he reacted to fast.

Black Hat lifted one hand, snapping his fingers, and red sparks engulfed the cup, covering it as it flew across the air. It reached the other end of the room, where it _should_ have been spilling all over him, and he caught it easily with one hand. When he opened his palm, instead of the cup, there was a small burst of red flame, and then nothing.

Flug glared, indignant, but as soon as the flame dissipated, he felt a sudden lightheaded feeling wash over him. His arms shot out to catch himself on the bathroom sink as spots danced over his vision.

“Now, now,” Black Hat said, and suddenly a chill filled the air. Flug's anger died away instantly as he stiffened, head snapping to look at Black Hat and eyes widening at the sinister glint in Black Hat's eye. “No need to be like that,” he tsked, but there was a clear tension in his words that obviously hid an unspoken threat.

Flug swallowed thickly. When he finally caught his breath, he spoke up.

“Did _you_ make me sick?” He asked. The question came out less accusatory than he would have liked, but maybe it was better that way.

“Now why would I want my minions to be sick,” Black Hat said. Suddenly, he straightened up and took a step towards Flug, causing the other to backup a step as an automatic reaction. “No, from my point of view, it was you who decided to scamper off,” Black Hat continued, gaze piercing into Flug.

“I had to go to _class_ ,” Flug snapped with more bravado than he felt. “You can't just make me sick when I go to class!”

Black Hat took another step, but then he paused, giving Flug an appraising look.

“No, I don't think you understand,” Black Hat replied, smiling ominously. “ _I_ didn't do anything. _You_ are the one who seemed to be trying to escape our little...”

He made a gesture between the two of their chests, smile widening.

“...connection,” he said at last, smirking.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Flug replied, backing up another step.

Black Hat gave him another look, apparently thinking, before he tilted his head and sighed. He let his eye fall shut as he backed away and leaned on the wall again. Flug breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“Perhaps I gave you more credit than you deserve,” Black Hat said, sounding suddenly less amused and a lot more annoyed. Flug wasn't sure this was better. “So let me explain it in terms you can possibly understand.”

Flug glared and crossed his arms, which made Black Hat smirk again. Was that better? Flug really needed to figure it out.

“When you close yourself off to me, you're going to _feel bad_ , understand?” He said, speaking slowly and enunciating every word as though Flug were a child. He raised an eyebrow, expression prompting a response.

“I can close myself off to you?” Flug asked instead, expression widening as brief thoughts of the possibilities of this crossed his mind.

“And live?” Black Hat drawled, expression darkening. He sounded somewhat bored, but the way he narrowed his eyes while glaring at Flug suggested otherwise.

“Uh...” Flug didn't answer, smile turning nervous and wary. He guessed that hadn't actually been the best response to the demon's question.

“Take a _wild_ guess,” Black Hat said, hissing the words, eye still half-lidded as he seemed about fed up with Flug.

“Okay, sorry,” Flug said, holding his hands up defensively. He wasn't _really_ sorry of course, but he'd rather not have the demon he sort of technically sold his soul to and now apparently had a bond with to get angry at him.

Black Hat sighed, reaching up to rub at his eyes.

“But I didn't realize I was doing it, so that's not really fair,” Flug said, crossing his arms again.

“Life's not fair,” Black Hat responded, looking back up and giving Flug a fake smile. “Deal with it, or I'm afraid you'll have worse than a measly little cold.”

Flug stiffened at the threat. But Black Hat seemed to have said his piece, because he was straightening up and turning to leave.

“Wait-” Flug said, heart suddenly skipping a beat. “You can't just- what if I get sick again? How do I know if I'm doing- whatever does that?”

Black Hat paused, turning to look over his shoulder at Flug again.

“Well... if you feel like this...”

Suddenly, the awful feeling returned to Flug again. He felt feverish, muscles all tensing up at once as he stumbled to the side. He caught himself on the bathroom sink, which felt blissfully cool under his burning touch. He felt like his legs were about to give out on him, and he tried desperately to hold himself upright.

“That's bad,” Black Hat said, smiling widely and showing off his deadly sharp incisors. His voice sounded somewhat strained, but Flug couldn't really pay attention due to the way his lungs couldn't seem to inhale anymore.

“Or like this...”

Suddenly the heat evaporated, but in its place ice splintered through Flug's skin. He gasped, and half expected to see his breath. His joints all froze into place, shoulders hunching as he ducked his head, struggling to breath in the chilly air around him. His muscles shook with the effort of holding him up.

“That is _also_ bad,” the voice to his right snickered. Black Hat stepped forward, dress shoes clacking on the tile floor. Flug struggled to turn his head, catching sight of how Black Hat's eye seemed to glow. He got inside Flug's personal space, preening as Flug shook.

“So try to avoid both,” Black Hat said, once again using a overly slow and mocking voice.

“Wha-” Flug stuttered out, teeth chattering.

Black Hat reached out, grabbing him by the chin with his thumb and forefinger. His eye burned into Flug's, an intense look on his face.

“I can't be constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you do it right, you flimsy thing,” Black Hat muttered, half to himself apparently, because then he made some sort of tutting noise, shaking his head.

Flug wanted to say that didn't make any sense, but he didn't think his tongue was working anymore. He felt like he was about to pass out.

“Now straighten out and fly right,” Black Hat snapped, narrowing his eye slightly.

Flug didn't know what the hell he was saying, but Black Hat shifted his grip on Flug's face. Now he cupped Flug's face like he had the previous night, and Flug felt the cold leave again. He gasped, and this time his leg's _did_ give out.

“Oh seriously?” Black Hat asked as he saw Flug begin to fall. He caught the man quickly, steadying him as he caught his balance again.

“Urgh,” was all Flug had to say, leaning into the demon's grip as he tried to stand right.

“Out of all the humans, it had to be you two _absolute disasters_ ,” Black Hat hissed, dropping Flug as soon as it seemed as though Flug wasn't about to fall and crack his head open on the side of the porcelain sink. “I _used to be_ -”

Black Hat clenched his shaking fists in front of him, closing his eye and taking a deep breath. He then opened his palms once more, making a calming gesture and letting the breath out. He opened his eye again, plastering on an obviously fake smile and tilting his head at Flug.

“Do _try_ not to get yourself killed in your own godforsaken bathroom, _hmm?_ ” He said, still visibly annoyed.

“I think that was kind of your fault,” Flug muttered, clutching onto the sink again and feeling somewhat like he was about to be sick.

Black Hat's eye twitched.

“Or- uh- sorry?” Flug tried again. He was enjoying breathing normally too much to really start a fight.

Black Hat clapped his hands in front of his face, startling Flug. He expected the demon to do something else, but he just continued to press them together, and hold them up in front of his mouth and he stared at Flug, squinting.

“Are you-?”

“ _I,_ ” Black Hat cut in, still holding his hands to his face and glaring at Flug, “am simply trying to ensure you do not kill yourself before I am done here. So _try_ not to _kill yourself_ before I am _done here._ ”

Flug gave him an exasperated and confused look, shifting his weight to one arm so he could turn to face Black Hat.

“You _sure_ have a funny way of showing it!” He snapped back, still breathing heavy.

“Yes, _well_ ,” Black Hat said, straining the words through a wide smile, “I wouldn't really have to be doing this if you weren't totally incompetent to start with, would I?”

Flug scowled at him. He straightened up, opening his mouth to snap at Black Hat. He felt his anger flaring up, and righteously so, the demon had basically just _hurt_ him to make some sort of screwed up point that he could have just verbally _explained._ Even if he was telling the truth, and it was so Flug didn't somehow “hurt himself,” it was still fucked up!

So he was about to say this, clenching his fists and taking a step towards Black Hat, when suddenly he felt the feverish feeling wash over him again. It was less strong this time, not as oppressive, but it still made him stumble, reaching out to the doorway to balance himself.

Black Hat stepped backwards suddenly, away from Flug's stumbling form grasping at the wall, and hissed through his teeth. He bristled, glaring at Flug.

“See?! Stop that!” Black Hat hissed after he retreated a good step out of range.

Flug just stared at the ground for a moment, before taking a deep breath. He didn't know _how_ to exactly “stop that,” so he focused on calming his breaths and trying to ease off the hot pressure pushing down on him.

Gradually, the feeling left. Once it dissipated entirely, he breathed out a sigh of relief, noticing that Black Hat, similarly, sighed as it vanished.

“Get the picture?” Black Hat said after a moment, eyeing Flug suspiciously.

“Yeah, I get it,” Flug muttered, straightening up and getting his bearings again.

“Wonderful,” Black Hat replied, sighing again and rubbing at his face. He appeared almost tired, but quickly brushed it off, straightening to his full height and crossing his arms behind his back.

“I have no idea how _you_ are managing to be a bigger problem than _that one_ ,” Black Hat said, gesturing vaguely deeper into the house with one hand, “but I would appreciate it if we could _avoid_ any more issues in the future, _hmm?_ ”

“Yeah, _yeah,_ ” Flug muttered again, scrunching up his face.

At least until he found out a way to get rid of this demon, he'd have to play along. He knew there had to be some way to exorcise him or _something_.

“Delightful,” Black Hat said, smile twitching slightly. Flug wondered if he could sense what Flug was thinking or read his mind, but when he didn't do anything else, Flug concluded that no, he probably could not.

“In that case, I have some things I need to discuss with the delightfully eager lady of the house,” Black Hat said. Flug could tell he was trying to keep from snapping the words at Flug, as though he was making a physical effort to keep the tone polite.

“Whatever,” Flug replied, rolling his eyes. “I want a nap.”

He tried to push past Black Hat, but just as he passed the other, the demon reached out and grabbed his shoulder. The place where he made contact somehow felt simultaneously hot _and_ cold, and Flug flinched away, even if he couldn't escape the grasp.

“It really is better for you if you don't try anything funny,” he said, leaning his head down so he was eye level with Flug. He suddenly rethought the whole “mind reading thing” as his heart rate skyrocketed. “So, really, _don't try anything funny._ Understand?”

“Sure,” Flug said weakly, swaying away, and then closer to the demon as his head felt foggy.

Black Hat stared at him for another moment, appraising him, before he nodded and released Flug, making him wobble slightly.

“Sweet dreams,” Black Hat said, cocky smile returning as he spun and walked away, coat tails flaring out behind him despite the fact there really wasn't enough moving air in the house to cause such a phenomenon.

Flug shook his head weakly, reaching up to tear off his glasses and rub at the bridge of his nose.

This was probably going to be even worse than he thought it was, wasn't it?

With that, he trudged back into his room to locate his food. As he entered the room, he also found that 505 had apparently taken shelter in there now, curled up under his desk.

“You going to be a permanent resident in here now?” He asked.

505 whined, tail thumping twice weakly in answer.

“Yeah, I don't like him much either,” Flug replied.

505 whined again, head lifting as Flug sat down in his chair and opened up his leftovers.

“Or are you just here to beg?” Flug asked, eyeing the dog suspiciously.

The dog barked, wagging his tail more strongly now and beginning to pant.

“Oh you absolute traitor,” Flug replied, but it drew a laugh out of him.

He dropped a piece of food for the dog to gobble up. That was a mistake, because then 505 sat up, taking up all the space under Flug's desk and shoving his head in Flug's lap.

“You're on my side, right?” He asked, giving the dog another piece.

505 barked, and Flug chuckled again. Well at least he still had the dog, even if Dementia was busy giving the _actual demon_ heart eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, sitting back in a lawn chair with two pairs of sunglasses on, blaring Katy Perry's 2008 hit "Hot n Cold" and drinking a pina colada and pretending it hasn't been six months since I updated this fic: 
> 
> Please leave a review, I appreciate them very much!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think!  
>   
> My tumblr is jadetigress.tumblr.com, where I post updates and ramble about Villainous along with various other fandoms if you want to contact me and talk over there!


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